#7: Friday Night Lights

 I’ll not deny it: I suffer from seasonal depression. Winter brings the blues and I struggle with the early darkness, constant coldness, and overwhelming trapped-insideness that consumes the winter months.

January was especially hard as it was accompanied by not only a stressful start of the semester, but also the Whole30. Any joy I might have found from baking cookies or going out to eat was pretty much reduced to dates and green peppers.

So it was a beautiful gift, one dreary winter night, to be walking on our apartment complex treadmill (the only treadmill, mind you, which had to be shared by every exercise-striving resident) and to stumble across the TV show Friday Night Lights.

I had the place to myself -- it was so cold and slushy that I didn’t anticipate having to hammer out a 20-minute sprint before having to share with the next person in line. I hit play. I had time.

30 minutes in, I couldn’t have been more thankful to be the only person in that workout room. (Spoiler alert): Tears streamed down my face as they loaded Jason Street onto the stretcher, his mother and father sobbing to the tune of shattered dreams. I wept along with them, then I hurried back to our apartment and said, “Joe…we HAVE to watch this.” Another thirty minutes passed and the tears had doubled as Joe (sorry honey) sobbed beside me. We were hooked.

Friday Night Lights became our daily dessert. Whole30 kept us from snacking, so we’d pop the carbonated lemon water and kick back to cheer on the Panthers. It was riveting, gripping, satisfying, emotionally captivating, and everything we would hope to experience in a television show. 

We talked about the Taylors like they were our friends. We found triumph in Tim Riggins’ touchdowns and celebrated Matt Saracen's successes. We laughed at the lewdness of Landry’s band and, many nights, had to force our jaws closed and our minds to turn off so that we could get some sleep. But as much as it captivated our thoughts, it also brought a season of rest, togetherness, no agendas, and nothing on the calendar except some (every night) Friday night football.

And as much as it brought rest, it also brought a feeling of home. You see, the town of Dillon mirrors Westfield in many ways: a no-where-land town becomes increasingly well-off as it revolves around the thrills of a successful high school football program. The coach is incredibly impactful and involved in his players’ lives, and they experience heartache and togetherness as the town waits all week for Friday night. 

For so long, I had been not really feeling like Westfield was home. I didn’t know my way around without a map, and I never saw anyone I knew at Walmart. But after watching this show, attending games of our own on Friday nights, and internally chuckling as I deemed local business owners the “Buddy Garritys” of the town, I almost sort of learned how to make it home.

I watched Tami Taylor invest in her students. I watched Tyra Colette rise from the ashes to pursue her dreams. I watched Matt Saracen lead his team to state, and even though I won't actually walk a single step in their shoes, something about being able to live vicariously through TV-show characters in a town just like the town I desperately wanted to call home caused my perception of Westfield to change.

For rest, for Tim Riggins, and for first-time feelings of home, Friday Night Lights gets ranked seventh.