The Fielder’s Choice
By Sarah Spaeth | IG: @sarah_spaeth
Seven. That’s how often I’d cross the white lines confining the dirt game I love. Seven innings. No matter what happened the inning before–crushing an extra-base hit, snagging a line drive at the hot corner, striking out, or not executing a play—I’d still cross the chalk and there would always be another chance, another game.
In the ten months since I graduated and stepped outside of the white lines for the last time, I’ve experienced an identity crisis. To be honest, I never thought that would happen to me. My passions and interests extend beyond softball, but I am still struggling. It is hard to admit. As an athlete and student who was accustomed to rules, strategy, and routine, being released into the adult world with next-to-no rules or guidelines has been daunting. Softball prepared me for teamwork, deadlines, fast learning, and failing forward in my working career. However, I’d argue there’s no better teacher than experience, and preparation can’t replace that. If you asked me about my approach to high-stress situations last year, I would’ve assumed we were talking softball. “What’s my 3-2 count approach? Where are we going with the ball? Who is an offensive threat?” If you asked me today, I wouldn’t know how to respond.
I feel pressure in every facet of my life to figure things out, understand my first full-time job, and navigate changes in my identity. The list goes on. As I write this, I still don’t have all the answers. There’s no strategy for those things like there was for softball. I haven’t practiced handling those pressures like I’ve practiced bases-loaded defense a million times. I haven’t learned how to deal with my new challenges like I’ve strategized how to hit my least favorite pitch (the outside pitch).
The fact that I couldn’t “figure these things out” bothers me like crazy. I came into college not highly recruited and would consider myself a late bloomer as a softball player. I worked hard and improved every year of my college career. I navigated challenges while adjusting to the college game and growing into/within my role in my college program. My senior season was the epitome of all my hard work. My confidence and play reflected the work I put in mentally and physically. I truly understood the difference between negative and positive self-talk and what they looked like at play. Reflecting on my last season, I was proud of my resilience and drive to become a better teammate, leader, and player. I researched how to improve team chemistry, organized mental strategy talks, and studied prolific sports leaders. Softball, all the challenges, excited me. I faced them head-on. I was proud of that version of me. The fearless girl, who had confidence rooted in experience, who found herself on the field. That version of me. And I miss her.
I’ve been asking myself where that version of me is. Feeling at the top of your game, being a leader, people counting on you–that's all you can wish for as an athlete. I felt purpose and belonging within the two white, chalked lines. I don’t experience those emotions as often now since I’ve started this new phase of life. It’s difficult to accept all of this change, but it felt more devastating than any change I’ve experienced.
A few questions have been on repeat in my thoughts. Why can’t I figure out post-grad life as I grew through adversity in my softball career? I figured out the power of positive self-talk before in softball, why can’t I practice it this time? I have beaten myself up over this. I’m not proud of it. I started seeing a therapist a few months ago that helped me reframe some of these thoughts. Three months ago, they seemed perfectly reasonable and logical. After more reflection, I can see they’re not realistic. Therapy helped me see that my difficulties adjusting to postgrad can’t be perfectly equated to my softball career challenges. I always struggled with my confidence as a player, and I didn’t think it could get much lower than what I had experienced. I played softball for 16 years, but my post-grad problems and new job challenges are fresh. I had 16 years of experience to validate and justify my in-game confidence. It’s okay that I don’t have experience as a source of confidence in my new job. I’ve never done this before! To anyone else struggling with the same feelings: you are not alone. The lessons we learn in sports can certainly be applied to life’s challenges, but our expectations for success and confidence can’t be “copy and paste” from our sport.
Another insecurity I harbor about my career ending is how much I’ve watched videos and looked at pictures my parents captured at games. I don’t want to seem like I am reliving “glory days”. Research shows that looking at memories triggers the same emotions you experienced in that moment. It’s not just reliving the moment, but there is real science to why I find myself doing that.
For a while, there seemed to be a self-induced stigma around admitting I miss softball and my teammates. My collegiate career was not without its blemishes. Almost a year later I still find myself revisiting the good memories more than the bad ones. I consider myself very lucky in that regard. I’ve studied enough psychology to realize that my emotions could be tainted by rose-colored glasses. Despite this, we all know most athletes are their own harshest critics. That’s one more reason to embrace the good memories and relive them. I know I certainly am. It sounds funny, but I can’t think of a better word other than loss to describe the absence of softball as I knew it and its role in my life.
Even watching my college team as a fan now is something that will always feel a little weird, but the pride in my team outweighs that. After reflection, you shouldn’t shut down your passion because some stereotype says you are “washed up” for caring beyond your playing days. How beautiful is it to care about our passions beyond our involvement in them?
You might think that the only people who miss their sport are the ones who “peaked” or were accomplished players. I’d encourage you to think beyond the accolades–beyond definitions of success as defined by and compared to others. You can still miss something immensely without being the greatest at it. You can miss something even when your statistics don’t jump off the page, or your name wasn’t mentioned in the scouting report. Your passion can’t be denied. That’s where some of my grief stems from. I never won a Landmark Conference championship, nor did I ever earn an all-conference honor. I was never the best player on my team. However, I’d like to think I played the game the right way, gained valuable life skills, made lifelong friends, and emerged as a better person. I wouldn’t trade those things for anything.
Sometimes, other people can articulate how we feel better than we can. I wanted to share excerpts that capture some emotions I’ve been navigating in post-grad life. In Kareem Abdul-Jabbar’s book "Coach Wooden and Me", he speaks of what he loved most about college basketball:
“Mostly, it was about the continuity. The thing I had always loved about basketball was the continuity of daily life. Not just the routine, which consisted of practice, shower, eat, but seeing the same people in the same setting, sharing those experiences with others. You’d arrive at the gym and spend hours with people who had your same experiences, frustrations, hopes. No matter what else happened in your life, there they were tomorrow.”
Kareem’s thoughts about the simplicity of it all resonate with me. You become accustomed to your teammates’ company, the routine, and the mundanity of it all. It’s just a game, yet it is also everything good about life. The continuity. It was always going to be there. The white lines. Seven. Then, your career ends on a random Saturday in May. All of the mundane things are finite. If I were still playing, I’d tell myself to think again the next time I say, “I have to go to practice.”
In early January of this year, former Team USA soccer player Sam Mewis medically retired from professional soccer. While her end to soccer was more abrupt than most athletes will experience, her thoughts still resonate. As co-host of the “Men in Blazers” podcast, she spoke about the things she would miss the most and her struggles moving on:
“There are just these really beautiful moments you have as a team…of course winning is amazing, but it’s the little things that I’m going to miss. . . I always say, and this is so stupid, but me and Rose [Lavelle] used to stay up late eating goldfish at camp. I just feel like that’s something, it’s a stupid thing that I shared with somebody that is over now. Friendships aren’t the same when you’re not their teammate and you’re not on the road and you’re not staying up late. It’s just a new life now. And so, I’ll miss soccer a lot. I love the game…but I miss being around my friends and sharing those stupid moments where we’ll laugh at something dumb.”
There are countless memories I will miss. The bus ride karaoke on the way back from a road win, the inside jokes, playing glove ping pong before every game, pregame in the locker room, getting extra reps before practice, and goofing off. Those moments are the ones you didn’t realize would turn into memories. They are sweeter because of it. You never think about the end until one day it is your reality.
While I felt ready for the real world when I received my diploma, I knew there wasn’t enough preparation anyone could receive. I received validation for juggling the two worlds of academics and athletics. It felt good to be recognized as an achiever. Does anyone feel prepared for life after, when suddenly there’s no more validation found in your sport or your identity as a student-athlete? What would I say to Sarah senior year of college, or freshman year Sarah, if I could give her a preview of this first year after graduation? My initial reaction is to say nothing. Telling her about the heartbreak, sadness, confusion, and growing pains wouldn’t make them easier when they eventually happened. But, there will also be feelings of immense pride, joy in the unknown, and consistent love for the game I’ve played my whole life. I’d tell her that she’d still have her sisterhood of teammates and best friends. She’d have coaches that still check in and are proud of her.
Although I don’t have this season of life quite figured out yet, that’s okay. Like learning anything new, it is natural to struggle. Reflecting on my career, a few things were crucial to my success: my faith, formative coaches, driven teammates, my loving family, and my passion for the game. There will be struggles, but approaching this new stage with the right people and attitude will make the transition easier. I know that this new stage will have its hot streaks and slumps. Embracing the process is the key to loving the game and this new phase of life. This is the fielder’s choice.
