Dopamine

Yesterday I played a game of soccer under the influence of Marijuana. I played with the most creativity, confidence, and enthusiasm I ever have. 

I was physically aggressive, unafraid of “attacking” with my body and charging in to fight for the ball. I jumped for headers and fearlessly rushed into skirmishes. It was a different me.

My team and I are severely out of practice for the public adult Rec league. Most of us haven’t played since high school, and almost all of us, except maybe me, are severely out of shape. And, until last night, I couldn’t really dribble or pass or shoot. 

But last night I could. Last night I would get the ball and instead of nervously looking for an escape route or making a rash decision, I naturally scanned the field or instantly decided to dribble forward. And when I decided that, magically, I COULD DRIBBLE FORWARD. Close to my feet, fast, accurate, overcome by a strictly better version of myself. 

I sent the through-ball for at least three of our goals. And when we scored, I genuinely, instinctively, loudly popped off. It wasn’t a “Oh, something good happened, I should congratulate/encourage my teammates to give them more confidence and strengthen our bond/pretend to be a real excited human being to increase the happiness of those around me because that’s what people do…” it came from inside, it was natural.

I haven’t involuntarily positively “popped off” in any competitive setting… maybe… ever. When I win, I am nearly always completely silent. If you’ve heard me go: “yes!” it was a forced reaction, because I thought that that was what a normal human would do in that situation.

The point of all this pop-off rambling is that the weed, or the dopamine generated by the weed, made it possible to feel visceral excitement in reaction to a relatively minor and meaningless feat, like I’ve been unable to feel for so many years. 

Dopamine, I guess, actives the circuits in my brain that make me “care” about shit. Care enough to yell about it. When the ref is blowing the whistle and the other team ignores him, my high self will yell: “LISTEN TO THE REF!” because that’s the only way we can have a fucking game, which I might not be so ardent about sober but high it’s just natural to me to impose my will on everyone like this. 

The Weed Difference was really staggering. Precision. Passion. Pride. The willingness to try new things and the confidence to keep trying them. The only drawback might have been that I was physically winded a bit faster than I have been in the past. 

I am sure there are many young people abusing weed to light their fire in every type of competitive sport. Not everyone who’s good, or even most of them, but based on my experience today, I know they exist.

The novel I’m currently reading is heading to a place where the main character, a young tennis prodigy addicted to weed, has to quit and face the steep mental consequences and the resulting dip in competitive performance. 

I know why the Mexicans in high school were all so crafty with the ball. And why those very same kids, who looked so genius on the soccer field, could not bring themselves to care for anything academic-related in the morning. They were wasting their dopamine on the field.