15 years old and shaking, nervously anticipating the ball, measuring the wind, watching the ball get bigger and bigger in the outfield, preparing my enormous glove against a blindingly sunny sky. Raised my hand like I was taught, shielded the sun, knees bent, feet planted. The eyes of my parents and classmates on me, the weight of self-pressure growing, the chance to impress everyone or no one with a thing as slight as catching a spinning ball. How did we get so moment-obsessed? I caught it though.