I started playing soccer in the elementary recreational league, where Saturday mornings became hair ribbons, cleats, and the smell of detergent on the grass stains smeared into my jersey. Soccer was a game I played to win and drink Sunny D; practices were opportunities to hand out pink, handwritten birthday party invites to my fellow players. As a kid who started off playing soccer—in part because of Dads—it was my parents’ labor of love that got me to practices and games and made me feel cared for after a muddy two hours — I didn’t realize I was doing something I loved. The same way you don’t realize the last time you played at the park or hung out with a childhood friend. It was an easy and comfortable routine to fall into, one that went undetected and therefore unmarked when it suddenly wasn’t.
I know competing priorities are such a cliché in coming-of-age anecdotes, as everyone eventually faces some sort of push and pull. Only after moving away from soccer and varsity sports in high school, and coming back to play my senior year of college, am I making an argument for stopping to notice these growing pains.
I nearly rejected soccer and field sports after game nerves and comparison had, I thought, ruined the sport. I decided I didn’t want to be the same person who felt overwhelmed by something as small as goals and drills. I wanted bigger priorities and an “adult” measurement of success. Then, leaving behind a childhood passion was natural and perceived at the time as evidence I was an active work in progress. This was obviously a chip on my shoulder. It’s still lost on me as to why we deny ourselves the things we love in an attempt to outgrow them, and I’m sure it’ll happen again down the line.
Changing goals—deciding to grow away from an environment or commitment—is an identity shift that feels so unstable. Only when new responsibilities filled the “identity bucket” did I feel relieved that there was enough to pick from and show for myself. For me, progress was forward, making sure I took on compounding academics, extracurriculars, hobbies, and work experience. Throughout that time, I would think back to playing soccer, yet I’d dive into any other new sport but soccer. As fated as this sounds, I get the feeling I had a soccer-shaped hole waiting for me to fill when I was ready to see myself differently. I guess I hadn’t been until recently.
My milestones and “to-dos” are changing to not only achieve the career I want but also feel more myself. I know academics will end sooner rather than later, and people will ask me what I’ve learned. So, to try and prepare for this new chapter, I’ve returned to soccer because the friction of getting back to something I once had plainly admits that unrecognized love. I’ve felt silly relearning, but I want to bottle the content of recognizing that many things have remained the same and everything is different. After the first college match, the team was given post-game treats. I was the one to clean my cleats and soak the detergent.
