If someone would have told me that I’d spend a little more than two hours chasing Pokémon around Arizona this weekend, in 110 degree weather, I would have had them committed. Twenty-four hours ago, I didn’t even have the app on my phone.
But several hours later, there I was. Sitting in a taco shop with my best friend, Sam, as he tried to catch the Abra that had magically appeared on my forearm. “Scottsdale is lit,” he advised. Sam then explained to me the basics of this present-day Pokémon game, and the details took me on a mental trip down memory lane.
I thought back to the euphoria of my childhood, and the times when my younger brother’s Nintendo Gameboy Color would mysteriously go missing. There I’d be on the other end of a locked bathroom door, device in hand, completely entranced and unbothered, as my mother and brother searched every corner of our house for it. It’s funny looking back on it, it wasn’t when they found me.
Fast-forwarding back to reality we’d found ourselves at the mall, which upon immediate notice had been transformed into a temporary gaming convention. I kid you not, there were groups upon groups of people stumbling around trying to catch ‘em all. And that’s when the fear of missing out kicked in.
I downloaded it, and before I knew it, I was holding my Zara bag in one hand, and trying to corral a Rattata with the other. Sam was right, this was lit.
Somewhere between Sam attempting to score Yeezy’s in a sneaker vending machine, and my Dodge sedan almost ending up in the trunk of his BMW, during my battle with a Zubat, we ended up at the town lake. And it was even wilder than the scene at the mall.
There were people everywhere. And this is where the bigger picture came into play for me. With all the tragedy and division we witnessed this past week, here was an illustration of our society at its best – united. People from all races, cultures, social groups, and backgrounds unified by a similar interest.
As I surveyed the interactions between African-American and Caucasian, sorority girl and fitness freak, jock and skater boy, I was overwhelmed by my feelings. There was a sense of pride, but also an inquiry of “Why can’t we always be like this?” It was the latest example of the good that can result when we give people, who we think we may have nothing in common with, a chance.
Magician Penn Jillette once said, “If you like the stuff I do, my chances of liking you go up.” In all my life, I’ve never found that to be a false declaration. So I issue a challenge to all who may read this: give people, relationships, opportunities – and ultimately, life – a chance.