Sometimes, when life feels heavy, you need to take a break and watch a game. After all, even adventures close to home can be just as meaningful—and sometimes just as surprising—as anything you’ll find overseas.

If you’ve been reading my blog for a while, you’ll glean from it that I increasingly value access to good public transportation, particularly as I age. In that regard, the Link light rail continues to be a delightful surprise. With the extension now reaching Federal Way, getting in and out of Seattle—especially for something like a baseball game—is easy, efficient, and refreshingly stress-free.

I love trains in Asia, particularly in Japan, because they are fast, efficient, and quiet. People are mindful of one another’s space, and public transportation often moves along in a gentle hush. Most days, I genuinely appreciate that. I don’t always want in-depth conversations with fellow commuters. Still, there’s something to be said for being American, too. We may be loud, but it’s comfortable when we’re at home, and sometimes it’s worth leaning into that and remembering.

On this ride into Seattle, my partner and I found ourselves in a series of easy, unexpected conversations with fellow passengers heading to the Mariners game. Ironically—and perhaps inevitably—we were all older folks. We talked about growing up, about baseball, and about the teams that shaped our memories. As a corn-fed Ohioan, I spoke fondly of my Cleveland Guardians (a name I’m still getting used to) and the Cincinnati Reds from back in the day. The gentleman across from me, decked out in Mariners garb, shared his own love of the Reds, along with the news that his grandchild is a Boston Red Sox fan—something he’s learning to accept, affectionately, of course.

Before long, a woman seated beside us, visiting from Boston, joined in. We spoke warmly of Fenway Park and the memories tied to it. I spoke of the “new” stadium Cleveland plays in while chuckling that it was built well over 20 years ago now. I suppose a reminder of my age is how events can seem timeless. I digress. The game itself was secondary. What mattered was recalling the hot summer days, flat beer, soggy hot dogs, and the looming presence of the Green Monster there at Fenway. It was nostalgia, shared without effort.

It struck me that these are exactly the kind of conversations many of us in America could use more of right now—a reminder of home, of shared memory, of the small cultural threads that connect us. Baseball has long been part of American life, and nearly everyone carries at least one story tied to it.

When we finally reached the ballpark, the game itself was a pleasure. We sat high up in the nosebleed seats, surveying the field and the drama unfolding below, with a sweeping view of Seattle to match. Taking the Link light rail made the entire experience smoother—and far cheaper—than battling traffic or hunting for parking along I‑5. True to form, and true to our age group, we slipped out during the ninth inning once it was clear our team wasn’t going to lose. Old habits die hard, whether you’re driving or riding the train.

Because it’s become a tradition for us whenever we head into Seattle, we rounded out the day with hot pot. Feeling a bit lazy, we skipped the International District and instead found a wonderful hot pot spot near the Federal Way light rail station. Run by members of the local Asian immigrant community, the restaurant featured a conveyor-style system not unlike sushi trains—and it was fantastic. The food was excellent, the owner warm and engaging, and her pride in the hot pot base she makes herself was evident. Our hot pot streak remains intact, and we supported a delightful small local business in the process. We’ll definitely be back!

So, when life feels heavy, or when you’re craving something familiar along a well-worn path, don’t discount a simple road trip—or train ride—and a ballgame. Sometimes that’s all it takes to feel grounded again.

Go Mariners!

Do you have a favorite sports memory growing up? I’d love to hear it!