Confession: I play soccer obsessively.
My best friend (or is it former best friend) recently helped me to accept this. I bragged to her about travelling all the way from Bungoma to Kisumu just to play a soccer match, and she responded with "You're nursing an addiction."
The other week, between trips to Western Province, which I will blog about soon, I discovered a new soccer team right in the heart of Kisumu City. My joy at being permitted to train with them can not be adequately conveyed. You should have seen my smile. It was a breath of fresh air as I had outgrown my former soccer mates (I had always been older than the majority of them but my few agemates got jobs and ladies so...) I shifted teams.
Indeed I may be nursing a self-destructive addiction to soccer but this subjective phraseology won't bother me much. I have realised that I'm happiest when I'm playing soccer; not even as happy when I'm watching professionals playing it. Five to six o'clock pm has become the highlight of my day and my focus from waking moment onwards.
The danger is that this fascination could blind me to other aspects of my life I should be pursuing. Like the job search thing. Of late I have resigned myself to the idea that anyone who gets a job is either lucky, well-linked or legendary. After this thought I shrug and pull on my boots. Any twinges of guilt about taking life for granted will be dealt with as I dribble nimbly and flit-footedly between the bodies of worthy opponents.
Afterwards I'm so tired I do not think too much about my social, professional or even economic life (or death).
Now that's what I call a comfort zone.