When I was nine years old, I knew I was going to play in the
World Cup.
I had the right Nike socks, had ordered a replica US Women’s
Soccer Team jersey, and had perfected my signature for the fans that would call
my name. I knew the statistics of my
future teammates, was confident I’d get along well with my coach, and was
simply just waiting until I got my braces off and could drive a car before I
joined the team.
I didn't put down the dreams of anyone else, for all I knew
or cared, 95 people could be on the team.
I was just going to be one of them.
I had a plan. I was
going to play on my state team until I was about 16 before being recruited out
of high school for the University of North Carolina. I looked good in that light blue color so the
uniform would work well.
From there I’d split my time between the National team and
my college squad. There were a couple
players that also did this so they could help me with traveling and
scheduling details- JetBlue or SouthWest? Yup, definitely arranging a quick
meeting with them.
I wasn't sure if I wanted to be sponsored by Adidas or Nike-
my favorite player was sponsored by Adidas but that swoosh was just really
classy. Maybe I could sign with both?
Powerade or Gatorade endorsement? These choices were tough
but I knew my agent could help me with them.
I was, of course, realistic about my role on the team- I
wasn't going to be the leading goal scorer; I was going to be admired for my
endurance, consistency, and comic relief on the bench and in the locker room. I practiced some jokes I’d tell Mia Hamm and
was confident I'd break her out of the shy shell she was known for.
I believed I was going to be on the World Cup team as much
as I believed I was Courtney Cronin.
________________________________
I smile, writing this as a 26 year old and think fondly of
the confidence I rocked as an adolescent.
Somewhere down the line I became a bit more realistic.
I acknowledged that life unfolds in ways that are not always
in my hands and that my path may have twists and turns unplanned. I found that the everyday details of life are
actually a bit difficult to accomplish- dishes need to be done, bills
need to be paid, college courses need attending, cars need gas, health
insurance doesn't just come with adulthood, and groceries are bought by the
person that wants to eat them. And there
was, of course, the fact that I wasn't that good at soccer.
If I had told the nine year old Courtney this, she would've
rolled her glitter covered eyes and said, “Yaaa..So?”
As we grow older we’re told in many different ways to be
realistic. There are things that need to
be done in life and HERE IS HOW YOU DO THEM.
That way won’t work, do it this way.
You could try that but, no.
Realistic plans are admirable and we congratulate those who
accomplish them. To be successful is to
have an achievable goal and a plan to get there.
I agree with many aspects of this notion. A fuzzy dream is just a vision, a fantasy to
entertain. One has to have clear steps
to success and the means to get there.
But where is the fun in these adult dreams if we don’t have
that childlike confidence? Far too often
we limit ourselves because of the reality we’re trained to acknowledge. Why dream when life is busy enough?
I think the combination of these two perspectives- clear
plans with childlike expectations, can create a life of wonder, joy,
creativity, and success. I encourage us
all to be a little unrealistic, to trust we can. A simple, definitive belief known so well in
childhood and often forgotten as adults.
Dreams may change but the approach we have towards them should not.
I think I may slap on some sneaks today and run around a
field like a child. I’ll smile and
laugh, I’ll plan and wonder. I’ll
believe and trust. I’ll be a little less
adult and a lot more Courtney.
Here’s to big dreams, big faith, and a big life.
<3
