The Game

I also thought about me: a little wearied, a little worn, tormented by doubts and feelings and lifelong illusions I can no longer reconcile, yet still able to find joy in the game. It is a different game from the one I played on a driveway twenty-five years ago, grown cluttered and complicated by the life around it, but guileless at its core and still recoverable from time to time. I felt good about that as I did about a lot of things, and as the night went on, I leaned back further and further in my chair and closed my eyes, deeply content. About 5:30 a.m., as the outside turned from black to gray, the feeling got tired, and I knew it was time to go to bed.

From The Game by Ken Dryden 1983. Published by John Wiley & Sons.