It's Almost Time

It is hard to admit that the years of being a kid are almost over. Some say that your 16th birthday classifies you as a young adult. Your youth is gone. I believe that moment is the split second change between high school and university. Scientists have proven that the frontal lobe is not fully developed until we are around 25 years old. How is 17 year old me supposed to plot out my future when I am scientifically incapable of making rational decisions? By definition, I have not mentally grown up, but I am expected to dispose of my childhood next year. This includes hockey, the part of my life that is most significant. It sounds senseless that I will be weeping over a sport. I am someone that is paralyzed by change and avoiding the inevitable. It’s almost time for what feels like my whole world to end, and I am not ready.

Hockey isn’t just a sport. It is so much more. For me, it symbolizes greatness, leadership, teamwork, and most importantly, family. Three to four nights a week, sometimes even five, I go home. Not to my house, but to my team, made of up 17 hardworking girls who share the same dedication I do. We shed blood, sweat and tears with each other. We play together till the final buzzer goes off. Every game is like a test. Every opponent is our enemy.We compete with our hearts on our sleeves until everyone can say they’ve left it all out on the ice.

It started almost 11 years ago in Long Island, New York. My twin brother, Carson, was enrolled in hockey and began to learn how to skate and play. At first, I went to his games so my dad could get me arena snacks. But quickly, I began to watch. I analyzed every action,  memorized every drill, and studied every stride. That's when I fell in love with the game.

This entire year has been a goodbye; one final salute to the game I love. I continue to hear that the next chapter of my life will be full of “excitement” and “adventure”, as if I am off on some quest, like Bilbo Baggins. For the past 11 years, my life has revolved around one thing: hockey. It has become a routine. Saturdays and Sundays are game days. Week nights are spent at the rink for practice.  No matter how challenging, I always come back. I have come to known one feeling, the cold crisp air flooding through my lungs and back out. It’s an obsession. And I always want more.

Growing up is difficult, and it is hitting me like a tidal wave. My house and my school will be different next year. I am expected to adjust so quickly with no time to comprehend the changes around me. Before I know it, I will be sitting in my dorm room wondering when the season starts; but it won’t for me. Hockey has always been my escape. When I show up I know I am safe. On the ice I am safe. In the change room I am safe. I have become too comfortable with this feeling of security and the thought of that changing scares me.

When reality crosses my mind, I start to break down. I will have to rip the bandaid off quickly before I have time to sit and reflect. In only two very short weeks I will have gone to my last practice, and played my last game. No matter how spectacular the ending, it will hurt just the same.

These past years have been some of the best in my life. I have given my all to the game and it pains me to let it go, but it's almost time to grow up and get on with the rest of my life. I have plenty more years ahead of me, it will have a different kind of joy and excitement. I am not prepared for the next chapter. I must accept that things are changing and even though I am uncomfortable, it is all apart of growing up. It’s almost time to say goodbye, and I am not ready.