I Was Really Bad At Soccer

& YET I KEPT PLAYING IT

When I was little, I played soccer—even though I wasn’t good at it. And to make matters worse (or better, depending on how you look at it), my dad was the coach. That meant quitting wasn’t an option. No matter how many times I completely missed the ball, ran in the wrong direction, or tripped over my own feet, I had to keep going. I was that kid—the one more interested in the flowers growing on the field than the actual game, always a step behind everyone else, and somehow managing to turn even the simplest drills into a chaotic mess. But despite my lack of skill, I kept showing up. Not because I had any dreams of becoming the next soccer star, but because I liked being part of something. I liked trying, even when I wasn’t the best.

That same feeling stuck with me as I got older, especially when I transferred universities. Starting over in a new place felt a lot like stepping onto that soccer field for the first time—unsure of where I fit in, second-guessing if I even belonged, and wondering if I was making a mistake. It would have been easy to let the fear of failing keep me from trying, but just like when I was a kid, I knew the only way forward was to show up anyway. So I did. I asked questions, even when I felt dumb. I pushed through the discomfort of being new. I kept moving forward, even when it felt like everyone else was already miles ahead of me.

Looking back, I realize that not being naturally good at something has never been a reason to quit—it’s been a reason to keep going. Growth doesn’t come from being perfect right away; it comes from doing the thing, over and over, until one day, it just clicks. And maybe, just maybe, you look up and realize you’re not kicking air anymore. And if you're lucky, your dad—whether he’s on the sidelines or just cheering you on from afar—might even be a little proud.