Making Space

Hey gang,

We just wrapped our family's annual week at the beach — the same stretch of sand in Kure Beach, just south of Wilmington, North Carolina, that we come back to every year. But the thing I can't stop thinking about this summer isn't the ocean. It's soccer.

I didn't grow up with it. I'm finding it now, in my forties, and this summer it finally clicked.

Half of it was the company. In the weeks before we left, we chased matches all over Knoxville — Orange Hat Brewing to watch Scotland bow out (RIP), the U.S.–Belgium game when we struck out at four different spots before ending up in a friend's living room with thirty other people, and a leisurely afternoon at Printshop Beer Co. in South Knox — with a killer pie beforehand at South Coast Pizza, my favorite food on the planet — watching Spain beat that same Belgium side. Somewhere in there I stopped being a curious bystander and started genuinely interested in the game.

Then this week I watched Spain grind out a 2–0 win over a tough France team to reach the World Cup final. Spain's second goal looked almost boring on paper — Pedro Porro and Dani Olmo playing a simple give-and-go, a pass and a run into the space that opened up. No trickery. Just two players who trusted the timing.

I watched it back three times.

They call soccer "the beautiful game," and I've been chewing on why. I think it's the space.

The most beautiful passing team I've ever seen wasn't even a soccer team — it was the San Antonio Spurs at their peak. That 2014 group moved the ball like it was allergic to standing still: the extra pass, the pass that sets up the pass, five players touching it before an open shot appeared. People called that the beautiful game, too. It was.

I learned this the hard way. Years ago I was the front-ensemble caption head for the Madison Scouts, and my partner-in-crime on the battery was the esteemed Roger Carter. Most drumline writing fills in every subdivision — it's how you keep a dozen drummers spread across a football field locked together. Roger's didn't. His was funky, rhythmically irrational, full of space — brutal to clean, and absolutely magnetic to hear. The space was the pocket and I always noted the courage he brought to his writing.

It's the same with any groove: the notes you don't play are what make the ones you do land.

The flashy touches get the applause. But the beautiful part — the part that actually works — lives in the spacing and the timing. The stuff nobody claps for.

So here's what I've been sitting with as summer increasingly tips toward a very full fall:

Maybe you're forcing it somewhere too.

The World Cup final is tomorrow. I'll be at a yet to-be-determined spot, fully invested in a sport I couldn't have cared much about just a month ago — which is its own small joy. Falling for something new keeps you young. I'm starting to think it keeps you creative, too.

Keep creating,

Andy 🆎

P.S. — Who've you got in the final tomorrow? Hit reply and tell me who you're pulling for. I'm still new enough that I'm mostly rooting for whoever keeps passing it around.

Around Studio AB

🎉 Design Your Creative Life — my free workshop is Friday, July 31st at 2PM. If you've been meaning to build a more intentional creative practice, come spend 90 minutes with me. [Save your Spot]

🥁 Back in the Studio — home from the beach and deep into a new composition that's finally starting to find its voice. More soon, but very exciting!