Philly

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It occurred to me (again) recently that I came here due to DEI, answering an ad on JournalismJobs.com that explicitly stated “women and minorities encouraged to apply.” I’m just as embarrassed to admit that today as I was back then.

Which is to say, I’m not. Even a little.

I mean, it’s been more than 22 years since I UHauled in from Macon, Georgia, a chubby-cheeked, recent Medill grad who’d spent just enough time covering sports down in Braves — or was it more like Dawgs? — Country to know that I was undoubtedly “of the North,” like a wild direwolf destined to find my Winterfell. The Bucks County Courier Times sports editor picked my resume and “clips” over what he said were over a hundred other hopefuls, making me the latest non-white-male reporter to “diversify” the staff at phillyburbs.com.

I was (am) a strong writer with a unique style who knew her shit and embraced covering the local sports scene as much, if not more than the pros. I deserved that job and did it well, rolling with every punch the company threw at us as the newspaper industry began its death rattle, until Gatehouse Media came along and knocked the whole operation flat on the canvas.

Yes, since settling in suburban Bucks County in the fall of 2002 — with a brief stint as a bona fide Philadelphia resident in ’04-’05 — I have done a bunch of regrettable shit “off the field” in my immaturity and addictions. Still, I’ve always felt pretty good about the way I served this community, first as a writer/videographer…

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…and now, as a sober, infinitely more responsible citizen with two years’ experience working to help others beat their addictions and improve their mental health. In addition to being a professional therapist, I’m a woman in long-term recovery who just celebrated 68 months alcohol-free and heads into Super Bowl Sunday 2025 with completely different priorities and passions at 46 than I had at 24.

Although I was born and raised in Chicagoland, spending my “formative years” in the Second City’s northern suburbs, there’s no denying that I “grew up” in Philly.

Recalling my East Coast origin story feels like tracing back through several different lifetimes, featuring a series of major developmental milestones that led me, somewhat belatedly, into adulthood.

There was: meeting my husband (in the newsroom), bonding with him over baseball (Cubs-Phillies at The Vet, MLB Extra Innings watch parties at our respective apartments), becoming friends (group trips to the beach at Brigantine or Center City bars, co-ed rec softball in the Philadelphia Sport and Social Club with the Wildcats/Bills/Long’s Heating & Cooling/D’s Nuts/Friends O’ Zaine, I’m probably forgetting a few…), our first “date” (camping near Hershey Park), his proposal (in Fairmount Park…the wedding happened back in Chi-town), moving into our cozy townhouse within steps of Tyler State Park (Spring 2016), going from the top of the world (road trip to G7 of the WS in Cleveland 🐻🏆) to “rock bottom” alcoholism around Year 10, watching new ownership start to gut our newspaper and quickly taking a buyout to end my journalism career (Sept. 2018), getting sober from alcohol (July 2019), going to therapy (individually and as a couple), returning to grad school and earning my master’s in counseling psychology (DelVal U. Class of 2024 🐏🎓), and scoring my current job in a private group practice in Doylestown while establishing my own therapy LLC as I work toward licensure.

Whew! 😅

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Of course, we’ve also had several significant World Events happen in this 22-year timeline…you don’t need the rundown; you lived through it, too. Let’s just highlight the one recent occasion that actually brought us some joy, shall we?

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I posted the above on Nov, 7, 2020, as likeminded neighbors drove down my street honking their horns with glee and yelling out their windows, “WE WON!”

That seems like eons ago, and yet, the feelings I was starting to have about my adopted hometown in the wake of that election have definitely come surging back. They never “went away,” per se, but after spending 4+ years driving past plentiful 🍊🚩 on my way to school and work every day in the conservative ’burbs, it took a few months of seeing other “blue hearts” from this area in my social media feed to remember that I’m not alone. I’m not an outsider.

I’ve lived here just as long now as I lived “back home,” and it’s safe to say — it feels true to say — I belong.

At the very least, I know I have plenty of kindred spirits on Instagram Threads. I’ve felt so much solidarity scrolling through and seeing locals decry PA’s crossover to the dark side of the political landscape while disavowing any connection to the rest of the state. It’s warmed my heart to read posts hyping the Birds as a successful pro franchise with what looks like a pretty strong social conscience.

I mean, not that it’s really all that deep; this is Philly, and these are Eagles fans, and “hype” certainly isn’t reserved for Super Bowls or even winning seasons; it’s an inveterate way of life for Delaware Valley natives, regardless of WTF’s happening in the world. I’ve been around sports long enough and had enough drunken “f*ck you”s hurled toward my Cubs getup over the years to understand that rooting for a team does not equate to championing a cause.

Raiding my hubby’s wardrobe — did I mention he’s been an Eagles fan all his life? — and throwing myself onto the Birds social media bandwagon before the biggest event of the sports calendar is not some kind of bold political statement, but it also doesn’t feel like a totally empty, performative gesture. It feels like standing for something, and that, to me, is deeply meaningful. It matters!

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Honestly, as I alluded to earlier in the captions of my Philly Life Story photo album, my interest in sports has waned significantly since I switched careers and stopped poring over Xs and Os, Ws and Ls, like it’s my job, because it no longer is, thank God. Giving up booze was an even bigger factor in finding other hobbies; not only was binge drinking a key feature of my sports fandom from ages 19 to 41, but recovery from addiction has a way of forever changing your perspective on what’s truly worth spending your time on and getting worked up about.

The adversarial “us vs. them” mentality that accompanies any kind of fanaticism — and contributed to many a cringe-worthy act of obnoxiousness on my part, back in the day — now seems like a waste of precious energy. Unnecessary, at best. Toxic, at worst.

Aaaaaat the same time…when you’re dealing with Democracy vs. Fascism? Humanity vs. Cruelty? When you’ve got the head N*zi in the house and all bets, in terms of “civilized” decorum, are off?…

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Truth be told, the reasons I fell in love with Philly never had anything to do with sports. It was a surrogate home that felt a lot like home home — northern city with closeness to the country, four seasons, rich history, natural beauty. And aside from the obligatory gameday ugliness from strangers in the stands — or, occasionally, condescending jerks/sexist a**holes in the press box, the clubhouse, the blog comments, and then there was that one guy who called my desk to scream at me about a high school softball story… — the people have been great. I’ve forged lasting, life-changing connections in athletic arenas, classrooms, coffee shops, therapy offices and church basements over the past 2+ decades, and I will forever cherish the local recovery community for supporting me through the grief of giving up alcohol and guiding me toward service and the dream-come-true of a sober life.

I’m so grateful to have landed here. Now, more than ever, I just want to see everyone in and around this city feeling “happy, joyous and free.” The Super Bowl provides a platform to spread the love — and hopefully, a chorus of cathartic boos — nationwide.

Saying it has never been this easy or felt this honest: Go Birds! 🦅 💙🏈