Who Are You? Look for the And

   

    When I was in college, I was adamant about one thing career-wise and one thing only. I was never going to be a coach. I professed it emphatically to anyone who would listen. When I am done playing field hockey, I am done with the sport. Totally. Forever. Never going back. Done. I was especially defiant about it to anyone who told me that I would make a good coach. Well, tough luck, because it’s never happening.  I’d say. I love playing. Not coaching.

I was so stubborn about not becoming a coach that I enrolled in the business school at the University of North Carolina just to defy the stigma of my identity as an athlete. I wanted to prove that I could belong in spheres of education beyond the field hockey field.  The irony makes me laugh because as you may have guessed, I now coach field hockey and I really enjoy it. 

Coaching brings me joy. When I am on a field with athletes or talking shop with other coaches, I lose track of time. I love the game; I love sharing it, watching it, writing about it, analyzing it, exploring it, and teaching life lessons through it. I love seeing others fall in love with the game too. I love seeing them develop their own, unique relationship with it. Some players love it, some players leave it, and some players, like young me, want to devote their lives to it. 

No matter the relationship, at some point all hockey players wrestle with the question of identity and who they are within the context of sport. We ask ourselves where do I belong within this sport, and where does this sport belong within my life. 

    When I look back at college me, I see that my resistance to coaching was never rooted in how I felt about the game; it was rooted in how I felt about myself. Field hockey was the dominant force in my life. Yes, I loved it; okay, yes, I was obsessed with it, but I also knew that there was more to me than what could be discovered on a hockey field. I had unexplored talents, passions, and perspectives. Yet, I clung to field hockey because it was my ticket to a better life. I needed it, desperately.    

    It was easy to carve out a niche identity for myself within the context of the sport. I knew my role. I knew my in-group. I knew what I needed to wear. I knew where and when I needed to show-up. I knew how I was expected to behave. I knew what was needed from me. Sport gave me, as it gives many athletes, very clear and distinctive answers to the question of 'who am I?’  The hockey player identity felt safe, and because it was safe, I didn't really want to explore other passions. I didn't want to stray from the known, because the unknown felt scary. 

    In 2008, before my first Olympics, someone suggested that I partake in a new Olympic blogger program that was being hosted by Lenovo. If you signed up to be a blogger, you got a free computer. That was enough to coax me into signing up. I wasn't equipped with any formal journalism training, yet in this opportunity I found a love for words and storytelling. The experience unleashed a dormant, creative part of myself, and I've been dabbling with writing ever since the first blog dropped on 'Beijing Bound and Beyond.' 

    In my discovery of blogging, and the exploration of my own identity and belonging within the sport of field hockey, this is what I've learned - the more I write and make space for the ANDs within me, the more I love the game; the less I write and the more narrow my focus becomes, the more I wrestle with my passion for the game. I realize that I must keep looking for the ANDs - the new passions and perspectives - within myself.  I can be obsessed with the game, like I was as a kid, and explore other parts of myself too. 

  I write this, because I know there is someone who needs to hear it. So, to the athletes and coaches now wrestling with their own identity and belonging within the sport,  I beg this of you -  love the game and celebrate the search for the ANDs within you, too. You can be a brilliant athlete or coach, and explore whatever passion your heart desires.