Memories over Materials.

I’ll be celebrating my thirtieth birthday in about a month and a half. That’s approaching 11,000 days of life, and these days, the things I own seldom bring me more joy than the moments I share with people I love. Part of me wonders why do we have to live so long before we realize most material possessions are about as valuable as a getting a fresh car wash right before a rain storm. The speed of innovation coupled with global greed significantly devalues most of our possessions, regardless of when it was purchased. We all know by the time you’ve purchased the latest iPhone, the next iteration has already been given a predetermined launch date in the future that coincidentally coincides with some trumped up over-commercialized holiday, thus leaving your iPhone antiquated the moment you open the box.

It took me damn near thirty years to finally understand what matters is moments, not materials. Time, people, places — the present’s presents — are what color our world and create our stories. They shape the moments in our lives we must share with the world so it knew we stopped by and enjoyed ourselves. Special moments like this often shake our very being, sometimes into submission, others into elation. I experienced one of the latter moments two weeks back while home in New Jersey. The occasion — the Final of the 100th rendition of the Copa America, the world’s oldest international continental soccer tournament.

I need to be honest with you all, and I mean this with absolute sincerity. If you were to tell me I had 24 hours to live, reliving this moment would be absolutely necessary. It easily cemented itself in my top five all time favorite memories (probably will end up one spot below the birth of my unborn child), and not one single goal was scored even after 120 minutes of football. In fact, the game itself, although competitive and featuring the world’s best player, lacked the entertainment value you expected for a match between 2 of the world’s top 5 teams according to the latest FIFA rankings. The game is honestly an afterthought in comparison to the noise, the music, the colors, the energy. It was pure enchantment. My spirit felt so full, food became optional.

Football is life. Pure and simple. This match confirmed this for me. I found myself neck deep in a sea of Sky Blue and White, the colors of the Argentina National Team, also, the world’s top ranked team. Supporters of their opponents, Chile’s National Team, were heavily outnumbered when you attempted to take in the 82,000 other people sharing this experience with you. Despite being the minority in the stands, the majority of them had much more to celebrate by the game’s conclusion.

But this memory was dominated by the people, the heartbeat of any football spectacle. If you ever needed to convince someone why this sport is beloved all over the world, bring them to an international soccer match. Like a lion silently waiting to pounce on its prey, the atmosphere would consume you at any given moment without warning. Messi is dribbling the ball at three defenders. You gotta Stand. Everyone around you starts chanting in a language you don’t know. You gotta Stand. The people all start clapping their hands in unison supported by the bass of some random drums a couple fans brought with them to the game. You gotta Stand. My melanin wouldn’t allow me to sit down. You know drums and melanin go together like Ruby Dee and Ossie Davis. This young boy below will demonstrate exactly what I mean.

I remember walking down the steps to our seats and thinking to myself, ‘Is this New Jersey or Buenos Aires?’. The first question someone asked me was, “Argentina?” in an attempt to determine where my allegiance stood. I was wearing a Barcelona jersey, so who I was supporting wasn’t immediately obvious. But I’m no fool. I was in the middle of an Argentinian ant farm. The supporters of the Albicelestes obscured any influence Chile’s fans would have on my decision. I replied, “Argentina, c’mon man. You see the jersey!” Within 30 minutes of being there, I saw one man spit at another man, so I knew I chose wisely. Witnessing this spitting in addition to the multiple drunken fans being forcibly removed by law enforcement made me realize most sporting events, whether American or international, shared some distinctive characteristics. I saw Chilean fans wave their flags high with pride despite being heavily outnumbered in our section. I saw people dancing out their seats during every intermission, their bodies’ movements orchestrated by their melanin, responding to the musical selections from the live DJ. It was loud. It was tense. It was fanatical and frenetic. It was raw energy and passion. It was worth letting my phone die because of all the Snaps I was taking. It was Christmas and Cinco de Mayo at the same, damn, time. It was magic, and it was giving me pure joy. Although I don’t speak Spanish, I do speak football. I truly felt at home. At last.

If there’s anything I would like you to leave with, it’s knowing that your journey is measured by moments, not materials. What we own should never bear fruit on our own sense of self. Let’s concern ourselves with owning the experiences that bring us closer to life and all its wonder, to love and loved ones, to laughter and to joy. True wealth cannot be quantified. Life’s greatest luxuries come with no price tag. Our world is here to be experienced, not purchased. Give your life memories that will last a lifetime, because that latest iPhone will only last you about three years.