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I was born in California but was raised in a little city called Yuma in the state of Arizona. I'm nineteen now so basically i've lived there my whole life. No one in California really knows where Yuma is and I do not blame them. Yuma is surrounded by desert and three hours from Phoenix, Arizona. Yuma has the Colorado River and the dunes on its south side and Mexico on its southwest side. This little city is less than seventy-eight thousand acres long. It has desert throughout and only a few cacti surviving its heat. Summers with 120 degree weather. More than eighty-five thousand retirees make it their winter residence because of how warm it is. These people, known as snow-birds make more than half of the population which is only ninety-five thousand. To have a comparison in populations San Diego itself has around 1. There is literally nothing to do other than stay inside all day and be grateful that air conditioning exists. Colorado River Bridge My parents thought it was nice to raise my sister and I there. They weren't wrong in that aspect but I got over it really quick. My dad had his own business at the time and also used to have a traveling soccer club with 5 different age group teams and my mom is a homemaker. I was raised in a Catholic environment and attended a small Catholic high school as well to get a good education. Everything was small and everyone knew each other in this little city, obviously I felt a little ignorant of the world and sometimes I felt trapped. When I noticed this, I hated it and wanted to leave and knew that my life was not meant to continue in the state of Arizona. I have my beliefs but sometimes one needs to get away from their comfort zone and grow as an individual. Thanks to my family and blessings, this is exactly what I was able to do. Silence is usually described as a feeling of stillness; a state of peace, a split-second of quiet, a season of serenity. This is what silence looks and feels like to a lot of us most of the time. We long for a moment of silence in this loud and crazy world. We crave it and when it finally comes, we close our eyes and hang on tight to it, for it is ever-fleeting. What if there was a silence that hung around for a little while? A silence that is deafening, unwanted, and conflicted. A silence that looks more like someone struggling to stay afloat in rough waters rather than someone sitting peacefully near unruffled ones. What if silence looked like this instead? What if silence felt like this instead? What if I told you that this type of silence actually exists? Would you believe me? This is not a valid email, please try again. Almost all elite-level athletes—college, semi-pro, or pro—experience this kind of silence. There comes a time, whether due to injury, retirement, or ineligibility, where the silence sets in. No more cheers of the crowd chanting. No more recognition for record-breaking performances. No more noise, clamor, or commotion. Just silence -- echoes of what used to be. Some might say that this is too drastic and dramatic; that sports are just a silly game us athletes play and that we need to get over it. But what those people might not understand is that losing the game is like losing a part of ourselves. It defines us in a way. Gives us an identity. It becomes our world and we become wrapped up in it. What do we do now? As the collegiate fall season nears an end, the first wave of senior student-athletes begins to face these questions. We live for that. This transition is something that we rarely talk about. But, I say, if every athlete is bound to go through it at some point, why not bring it to the forefront and acknowledge it? Through sports, we have been lucky enough to create more friendships and memories than most people dream of. We have grown as people and learned more lessons from athletics than school could ever teach us. Take it all in. Take a look into the stands to see your family and friends who have been there to support you every step of the way — remember to be thankful. Take a look at your teammates to the left and to the right of you, and think about how these people, who have become your family, have shaped your life — remember to never let these relationships go. Take a look at playing stage, whatever it may be, one last time and replay all of the great victories and celebrations — remember to cherish those feelings of triumph. Finally, no matter how deafening it may be, take the time to listen to the silence, because while our sport has certainly molded us and inarguably impacted our lives, it is in no way definitive of who we are. Remember that, and more importantly, believe that. Believe that you are just as important and just as valuable to the world as you were when you played your sport. Because if there's one thing I know for sure it's that being a good person is what truly matters in this life. Who you are without the game is what matters and how good of a person you are doesn't change just because your playing days are over. The people who I am sure will wake up on Tuesday, November 6th and know that 26 years ago I was born into their family and purposely did not pick up the phone to tell me that they are happy I exist. Now I am being extremely obvious here, if you are at all in my life, you can probably guess who it is I am talking about. You may also guess that a part of me believes that I did it to myself and ultimately it's my fault. While the other part of me is desperately hoping that for one day, for one second, these people could overlook everything that has happened and will shine the smallest amount of kindness on me on this day, as it will be the first time I will be celebrating alone. This is not a valid email, please try again. As much as I try and convince myself the ones who care will always be there and will make that known. It still really kills me knowing that the people I call family want nothing to do with me. I still choke up when I tell the story. I still have a therapist's voicemail saved on my phone because I am not afraid to share I need help and I want to feel better. I keep telling everyone I want a corkscrew for my birthday. I am a wine lover and I broke mine a while ago. While I am laughing at myself because I can only imagine how many I will get. All I really want is a handmade card from my favorite four-year-old. Another doodled picture to go with the collection of others I have that I cherish so deeply. It really is the little things in life. Growing up, every year I wished my Dad would call me or send me a card, even though I knew he didn't have my number or my address. I foolishly wasted wishes while blowing out candles on a cake that he would spontaneously walk through the door. So here I am again, another birthday spent wishing that the one person I want to hear from most won't make a sound. It's like no matter what I do, or how old I get, I will always be stuck in the same problem with a new circumstance. Please know if you wish me a happy birthday, it will not be overlooked, it will not be minimalized. I love you so much for thinking of me, and it means so much you remembered or Facebook remembered for you then you can possibly imagine. I am just trying my best to figure out how to be okay knowing that there are some things I can't reconcile no matter how many times I reach out and try.
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