When I'm There
On afternoon naps and Tuesday soccer games
This week, I met my niece Grace for the first time. She was born while I was in Kenya, and I finally got to hold her. She slept in my arms — all cheeks and contented sighs. I just stared at her, trying to absorb every detail.
Since becoming an aunt, I try to spend more time in Cleveland — an extra set of hands goes a long way. While I’m there to help, I selfishly get so much out of the time with my brother’s family. I get to watch my nephew grow up and become a big brother. I get to witness my brother and sister-in-law become amazing parents. I get to be part of the ordinary rhythm of their days.
These days are not extraordinary. They are a string of random Tuesdays and Wednesdays. But they hold a certain magic for me. There is something deeply generous about being folded into someone’s routine — morning coffee, neighborhood walks, dinner after work, the small negotiations of family life. It feels more honest and intimate. As I spend a lot of time between places, I initially worried that I would be constantly battling FOMO. But I am learning not to focus on what I’m missing, but to be fully present for what I can experience.
My nephew Jack had his first soccer game this week. The setting was idyllic. It could have easily been a postcard from the Midwest, with fields overlooking Lake Erie and the sun casting a golden glow.
The kids wore shirts two sizes too big and tiny shin guards. They swarmed in a huddle, chasing a ball that kept getting stuck in the grass. A player on the yellow team was perpetually frustrated and picked up the ball to move it to change the direction. He didn’t carry the ball — he just needed an adjustment. Every time the referees — yes, there were refs — whistled, he ignored them. After he scored (hands-free!), he ran to the sideline asking his parents for the snow cone he was promised if he scored.
A player on our team scored again and again. Every time, he would pump his little fist and run to his mom for a high five. Both teams stopped to watch a plane overhead. One player was only interested in cartwheels and leapfrog. Her parents waved proudly from the sideline. The adult-to-player ratio was a conservative four-to-one.
Jack ran with the crowd back and forth. He wasn’t aggressive. The ball accidentally hit his foot twice. He was just happy to be out there and part of the team. The final whistle blew after 30 minutes. No one recorded a score or cared. Both teams got snacks, and we went home.
That half an hour was more entertaining and heartwarming than anything I’ve seen in a long time. I felt so lucky to be there.
I want to be in many places at once. Teleporting would come in handy on a weekly basis. But when you live a semi-nomadic lifestyle, going from one place to the next, you sometimes feel stuck in between — never quite in the right place.
I chose this life. I wanted my life to look this way. It isn’t always easy, but it is full. I call a lot of places home. There is a part of this that can be hard and lonely. I miss birthdays, parties, and holidays. But it has taught me to savor the time I do have with my people.
Maybe I’m not there for everything, but when I’m there, I’m there.
That means lingering over dinners, having real conversations, and folding into my friends’ lives rather than a quick visit. It means being present for the afternoon naps, kitchen sink baths, and Tuesday soccer games. Don’t get me wrong, there are so many times I wish I could pop by for a coffee, desperate for a real chat and not an audio message.
I can’t be everywhere. But I can be here.
— Meg
Cincinnati, Ohio | May 2026