by Ariana Wilson
Competition was like breathing; anything that could be ‘won’ became a challenge, a game. The ease with which I became an athlete seemed predestined. It was always more than just a game, though. The ball rolling down the roof in the backyard became a game of passing back and forth, no partner needed. Months later — the roof no longer a sufficient practice partner — I asked my sister to play with me so I could practice with a touch more rigor. Our backyard sessions became the origin of her own love of the sport.
One more minute was never enough, and everywhere I went became an opportunity for guerilla practice strategies. Setting and passing with balled up sweatshirts, any object became a volleyball if I was determined enough.
Minutes of technical discipline accumulated and became months of mental and physical training. In the blink of an eye, my childhood was lost to a sport I once loved.
My entire identity was consumed by my love of a sport. As an unsure girl whose world was changing, I found solace in setting up and taking down the net; in the practice that happened in between, in the repetition ad nauseum, just to improve by one touch. The rhythm of familiarity was a welcome distraction from confronting my adolescence and the reality that a person was developing underneath the athlete.
As I look back and forth between my first love and the rest of my adult life, I feel content for the first time in years. Leaving something you love by choice is never easy. Leaving a sport knowing you were physically equipped to compete but could not, in good conscience, subject yourself to another season under underqualified and callous leadership is devastating.
“You are a person a lot longer than you are an athlete,” Laurie Creighton, my high school volleyball coach, often reminded her teams.
Her guidance and support, among many others, have been invaluable to me. Their words of wisdom adorn the memories I covet of the years I fell in love with volleyball, of contributing to something bigger than myself.
Since 2013, every fall on my calendar was occupied with daily two-hour practices, games twice a week and tournaments on weekends. In my later years of competition, mental toughness and watching game film took precedence over hours on the court. Our bodies committed to memorizing the countless rotations and plays so, to sharpen our skill, studying our opponents became homework alongside our high school and college course work.
One day, I put pen to paper in an attempt to meet myself through my writing. The pages became my confidant as I reflected on the people who saw beyond a volleyball player — and took time to cultivate in me, an unwavering character. It was only after my first journal entry that I realized that the bulk of my developmental years coincided with a sport that’s success is dependent on mistakes. The delivery of criticism and encouragement from coaches, mentors, family and friends became my internal monologue. I was blessed with coaches in my early years who saw my potential, on and off the court, who nurtured what I could be regardless of what I became.
The people you allow to lead your life possess great responsibility. It is within your power to decide who you allow to occupy that position. In the lens of the world, leaving my college volleyball team did not create a ripple effect enough to start any significant change for humanity, but I am a better person for it. Shedding the expectations and constant criticism allowed me to explore the root of my love of sports.
Settling into this new life has been slow, but worth the emotional ache. I am confronted by my potential at every decision I make and yet I remember that, in comparison, I rob myself of presence. Presence in this season, in this moment and in the gratitude I have for the collection of moments that brought me here. Humboldt County, California of all places.
This is my first year as a former student athlete, but in lieu of the absence of collegiate athletics, I have transitioned into a season of personal curriculum and competition. My syllabus consists of falling in love with the things that made me want to play volleyball in the first place. Being an athlete, competing and pushing myself beyond my perceived limits.
I am starting fresh at 22, pursuing my childhood dream of being a marine biologist through scientific diving on the North Coast, trying surfing for the first time, honing my dedication and discipline through climbing, playing the guitar and writing as a way of self discovery.
Loving something is special and worthy, but using it as an identifier has limited my capacity for imagination. I have more future than past and I am a person a lot longer than I am the hobbies and passions that formed me.
Ari is a senior journalism major and the science editor this semester with an adoration for the environment and conservation. She plans to meld her journalistic passions with scientific research in the future.
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