I was playing in a volleyball tournament this weekend. In this one match, we were up against tall, tough opponents and our battle thus far was close. There were service aces, commanding blocks, deafening spikes and long, scrappy rallies. Whenever one side began to open a point gap, the other team pulled it right back. A small crowd of onlookers began to form on the sides, and cheered after each point, adding to the atmosphere. At this point in the match, both our teams were at our limits, and one decisive point could break either of our spirits, sealing the match.

We were receiving serve. The server, an imposing beast, threw the ball high into the air and slammed the ball into our court. It came off our middle blocker, high into the air, but sideways into the neighbouring match. There was nobody around to receive. The other team began to celebrate: it was the serve they needed.

Except the ball never landed. Somehow, faster than I could blink, our setter was there, dived into the air and dug the ball back onto our side. “Connect! he yelled. Half-shocked, we obeyed: the ball got passed high over the net. The point was still in play.

At this point, our opponents realised the rally was still on and regrouped. The pass went up, the setter ran into position, but as the ball left their hands, the hitter was already in the air. He was too eager to finish the point and had jumped too early. When he realised he had mistimed it was too late, and hit the ball awkwardly as he was falling, straight into the net. The whistle blew. The point was ours.

Our team erupted into cheers. We had turned around a point that seemed lost from the beginning into a win. The significance of this point was not lost on anyone, for all could see that as much as our spirits were uplifted, so were the other teams’ crushed. We had no business winning that point. Our initial receive was supposed to be a fatal error but by sheer determination, the ball came back. Losing points like these feels like a cosmic betrayal. This point was the start of a large point gap, and we went on to win the match.

There is something enchanting about fighting until it’s over, refusing to settle for less, and waging war until the very end. We see it in the obese teenager training for a marathon, the abused student studying for hours on end, the eighty-year old grandmother who, despite her arthritis, heart problems, and worsening dementia, still does the chores and attends the gym. It is a violent, cosmic struggle against the universe with one loud, clear message: that our time here is precious, a diamond not to be taken for granted, and that we will struggle against time to live as much as we possibly can.

From Dylan Thomas:

“Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.”