Right On Time

from August 24, 2018

Last night I came upon a poem that sparked a light within my soul which I had forgotten. It was a poem about timing–about the understanding of the elusive concept that can be both a blessing and a curse. It goes like this:

A silly thing time is, isn’t it? Always fleeting, yet preserved as etches upon our hearts that we decide to call our memories. I do not know the author of the piece , but the individual seemed to both capture a prominent fear of humankind, as well as provide comfort in life’s greatest intangible.

This poem comes to me as I struggle to close one of the greatest chapters of my life thus far: my collegiate hockey career. It has been months since I took the ice wearing the Badger jersey, unknowingly playing in my final game. There will never be enough words to express the heartbreak of the ending of an era I had dreamt about since I was a little girl. The countless hours training, playing and practicing with my teammates have faded into the past. The numerous road trips and pillow talks and dance parties can only be experienced again in the videos I took or the pictures I snapped, their entirety projected in the cinema existing only in my thoughts.

The harshest truth we have to face is that time will never stop. We cannot repeat the years that have drifted by, or hear the laughter of those we have loved and lost. The fragility of each moment in this lifetime is frighteningly beautiful–a reminder to cherish the seconds spent living out our adventures surrounded by our favorite people.

Because eventually, time will take back what’s hers.

I will admit there are days when I find myself longing to return to the place that was my home. The locker room, my stall, listening to my blades cut into the LaBahn Arena again, feeling the roar of the best crowd in college hockey shake the building. Yet, I know that is behind me.

And now here I stand, confronted by the unknown.

Lately I have been experiencing waves of doubt. I often question if I am making the right decision in taking a break from the game, wondering if my desire to seek what is next means that my love for hockey has disappeared. Seems like a crazy thought, but it’s real. I worry about what others think of my actions, what they will think of my direction. My confidence in myself has weakened, and I sometimes feel as if I am not as talented of a person if I am no longer defined as a hockey player. I also worry that others in my field of pursuit are lightyears ahead of me–obtaining opportunities that I will not be able to reach.

The transition has been anything but easy.

However, this poem reminds me to release all of those thoughts. I am reminded of my worth, my strength. I am reminded that my time is my own.

Life beyond being an elite athlete is certainly different, yet remarkably exhilarating. I have time to explore the areas of my life I was once limited in venture. My journalistic passions, my affinity to write and connect with people…all parts of my soul that I intend to grow in now that I have the time to do so.

I am able to embrace my family more than I ever have before, reconnect with friends of whom I have lost touch over the years, have morning coffees with my mother, drive around town with my sister–(become her number one fan now)–go to open hockey with my father, play fetch with my dog, stargaze in my backyard, make new chapters with the love of my life. I will be the biggest fan of the Badgers and all my fantastic former teammates, cheering them on from afar. My love for hockey will never cease, only shift forms. I will be around the game forever, but in a new light.

I am finally realizing how liberating this all truly is.

And as the poem states, I am on my own time, right on time, fully present in my existence. Right here, right now. This is my moment, and no one else’s.

With love, Baylee