An own goal.

There is a momentary lapse in judgement. We’ve all been there, where we’ve taken our eye of the ball for a split second, and yet it is long enough for catastrophic things to happen.

In the same breathe, how poignant that on the day I failed and was robbed, I watch Barcelona play Olympiacos at Camp Nou. Twenty-two men paid incomprehensible salaries for their ability to ensure that error doesn’t take place.

As hard as we can try to keep dry, our head above water, there will always be moments which we fail. At the time, it’s natural to think that there must be personal fault for these things happening. But in truth, there isn’t.

We can’t always hold ourselves accountable for the actions of other’s, as much as we would perhaps want to.

I felt much like I assume Olympiacos felt when one of their team scored an own goal. Defeated and deflated, ultimately failing in our destiny. The intentions were good, but the play was careless.

My camera is replaceable, just as a game of football remains just a game. I count some blessings that all I lost was material, when so many have lost much more. I for one do not know loss.

We all woke up this morning, the morning after, and we still have air in our lungs, love in our hearts and blood through our veins. For that, I am surely the luckiest person alive.