Everything, Actually

Football, Chosen Family, & Being Loud About What I Love.

What does The World Cup have to do with self-love?

Everything.

The six-week-long tournament ended yesterday. We went from 48 teams down to two. From multiple games a day to the finals. And yet the energy of this tournament has reached far beyond stadiums.

Spain won the Cup. But what I’ll remember most is the feeling this summer has brought us. The permission to find joy in loving deeply and caring passionately. That’s what will linger.

Have you felt the buzz? Seen the posts or heard the news? If you follow my Instagram, you’ve gotten a heavy dose in my stories.

We had the Tartan Army’s romance with Boston. South Koreans partying in Mexico. The tiny country of Cape Verde giving us all hope. Norway and the Viking Row sweeping the globe.

The world came to America and saw the best of us. They learned about ranch dressing. Barbecue. Cowboy boots. We learned about bagpipes. Swapping shirts. Red cards.

We sang together. Cheered together. Danced. Together.

Of course, there were some darker moments. Fans didn’t always get along. Corruption reared its ugly head. But those events don’t have to define this summer.

Joy does.

For six(ish) weeks, people from all over the world quit existing as headlines and political cartoons and just lived as humans.

The Bigger Love Story

The World Cup gave us permission to bond. To cheer for the opposing teams and still celebrate together.

To remember we’re not so different when we’re lit up.

At least, I’d like to believe that it did. There’s potential in passion, and we need more of it. Need to give ourselves permission to punch the air and shout, “YES!” Need to remember that things don’t have to be somber to be profound.

What if self-love isn’t all nature soundtracks and healing themes? What if it isn’t always about boundary setting or acceptance?

What if, sometimes, self-love comes in bright colors and raspy throats? In pints of beer and beating drums?

Maybe it’s time to put the OM in “Take me hOMe, country roads.”

I’m realistic enough to know we won’t suddenly be dancing through the streets or stopping work at three o’clock on random Tuesdays from now on. And I won’t fool myself that a sporting event solves all our problems.

But I’m hopeful that passion and enthusiasm can continue.

That this summer reminded us that joy is contagious.

And that allowing ourselves to love something wholeheartedly, even something as beautifully insignificant as a game, is a form of self-love too.

My Football Love Story

This isn’t my first World Cup rodeo.

I watched a few matches in 2014 while living in Brooklyn. I distinctly remember sitting in my classroom on the last in-service day of the school year, feet on my desk, glued to my iPad while waiting to sign out and go home.

But my real love of the most beautiful game started in 2018. The same year my soul journey began.

Through a strange twist of fate, I started following Team England early in that tournament. Watched them catch fire and learned about the decades-long drought a football-mad country had endured. I held my breath through game after game. I learned the words to “It’s Coming Home.”

When they were eliminated, I hung my head in a bar in New York City.

England were out, but I was all in.

I got my love of sports from Mom, a lifelong University of Tennessee fan. Then, I discovered hockey. We know how that went. I loved it so much, I built my writing career on it!

But England in 2018 was my initiation into the world’s sport.

Which is why, this year, I found myself cheering for two countries that generally can’t stand each other.

I understand the long, painful history between Scotland and England. I’ve been to Culloden, where my McDonald ancestors were slain. I respect that history.

But this is about football.

So yes, I sang, “No Scotland, No Party” and “It’s Coming Home.” I wore blue one day and red the next.

Not out of disrespect. Out of love of the game.

Because, for me, it’s all a love story.

The Summer of Healing

The 2026 World Cup’s energy couldn’t have come at a better time. We needed this break in the bitterness. For me personally, a summer of cheering and dancing after last summer’s healing and recovery was a huge hell yes.

It was more than that, though.

This World Cup let me cheer with the people who are now my friends and chosen family. The people who I’ve found in this chapter of life.

And that meant everything.

For England’s opening match, I was at a local brewery. I’ll never forget it. My friends and I stood shoulder-to-shoulder with fellow fans. We cheered together and groaned in unison.

And my heart was completely full.

Not because England won (they did!). Because I got to share something I love so much with the people who mean the world to me.

Over a hundred matches. Not one watched by myself. Every game was a reason to gather and bond, even when cheering for different teams. Every outcome became fuel for conversation. Reasons to laugh and reflect.

Talk about “coming home.”

Home to my life now. To my people and a game I used to watch on my own. Maybe even coming home to myself in a new way. That’s self-love. Unique, lived-in, and wholly yours.

Everything, like I said.

Your Turn

👇Comment Below👇

Tell me what you’ve experienced this summer.

Has the energy given you a buzz?

If not, where have you found joy lately?

Love of The Game