Great (Eye) Balls of Fire

I'm not crazy. (Well, keep reading, I might be a little) I don't listen to all of my sudden urges though. Imagine if I did?

I would be out for 1 am runs quite often. And probably have a white board in my car with things written on them for certain drivers that pass by. And maybe wear my Batman mask through the Dunkin Donuts drive thru. (I'll have a Batte-that was a stretch).

But I don't listen to all of my urges. It's okay that I don't. I think it means I'm somewhat sane. But one that I usually can't ignore is the urge to write. If I had to compare the image of grabbing my laptop off my desk at 2am, I would say it's similar to a husband getting the call that his wife is in labor, him trying to put his shoes on frantically, forgetting his keys the first time and shutting his jacket in the driver's side door.

Sometimes I knock papers and pens on the ground while holding my laptop while still laying in my bed with the strongest finger grip of my life so that it doesn't fall to the ground. Everyone does it. Come on.

So, to answer your question Rainer Maria Rilke:

"This most of all: ask yourself in the most silent hour of your night: must I write?"

Yes. I must.

This is what's on my mind guys. I love people who love what they do. Those are my type of people. I don't care what it is you do, how old you are, where you're from, or anything, if you love what you do, and you're convincingly passionate about it, I just love you.

I have had conversations with people who are so passionate about what they do that you can see a legitimate flame appear in their eyes. For a quick second you even check behind you because the possibility that the flame in their eyes is a reflection of a fire behind you is real. But then you realize that it's just this human being full of love.

I've also realized that there are times when showing how passionate you are for something might not always be the coolest thing, so people shy away from it. I would now like to bring you back to the mid to late 90s - and introduce you to a kid that loved soccer so much, she didn't know anything else was going on in the world. A few examples...

When my grandma passed away, I was probably around (really young) years old. She lived in Florida and my family was explaining that my brother, sister and I had to go to her funeral. When they told me when it was I told them I was unable to go, I had a soccer tournament. (For the record, that's not why I didn't go)

I was thrown a surprise birthday party in 8th grade. I had a game that night. I showed up to my party in my shinguards, full uniform and my turf shoes. Stayed like that the entire time. (kept the tape on my shinguards, in case you were wondering)

The morning after my senior prom, I woke up in the hotel room with all of my friends still asleep. It was 5am and my mom was outside waiting to take me to a tournament in Long Island.

As you can see, I have had my priorities set in my head from a very young age. I loved soccer and I didn't care who knew it. I was so passionate about it that I didn't understand how other people couldn't be. At the time, I was mostly interested in people who loved soccer. And trust me, growing up, those people were very hard to come by.

As an (almost) adult, I have found that I still am obsessed with people who love soccer. Nothing makes my adrenaline run like actually playing, but talking about it, or coaching, or anything within the game comes pretty close.

I've grown in the sense that I appreciate people that are passionate in general. People that, no matter what the outsider may think of them or what consequences may arise, they put their all into what they do and enjoy every single second. I appreciate that for two major reasons: 1. They are in the minority and 2. They are likely viewed as an outsider.

Since my opinion hardly matters, I'll quote someone that has a bit more prestige... (Don't worry, it's not Richard Sherman) my boy Aristotle said, "To avoid criticism say nothing, do nothing, be nothing."

I bring this up now because I coach teenagers. Lately I've been reminded of the pressures that come along with going to high school and trying to play soccer. It's not easy. It's not easy as is. It's not easy with school or another sport (this is for a later blog- I believe in specialization despite all the studies) and it's not easy socially. But I have to use this blog to say that it's more than okay to be different and do what you love and let everyone know it, at any age.

We should all let the world see our fire.

I Alone (love to be alone)

The last three days have been spent doing the following: Working out (coming back from a ten-day absence due to severe bronchitis and other happenings that were mentioned in previous blogs). It's amazing how only two weeks ago, running felt fabulous. Now, it feels as though someone is playing a sick game of "hide yo lungs".

Finishing the Jim Morrison book. (More on that later)

Watching the NWSL (Twitter) wheel and deal.

Wondering why my mom (and I assume many moms) saved the Welch's jelly jars and still uses them as drinking glasses.

And finally, watching soccer games on TV.

Coming next… my thoughts on all of these things.

First, working out. No, actually there's nothing more to say in that area. It can only go up from here.

First, Jim Morrison.

"When we became a concert group, a record group, and were contracted to provide so many albums per year, so many singles every six months, that natural spontaneous generative process wasn't given a chance to happen… "Do I think my work has suffered? Yeah, I do. If we did nothing but record, it would probably be alright. But we do other things, too, so there's not the time to let things happen as they should."

This is what Jim said when he realized his creative juices weren't flowing like they used to. He was experiencing life as "giving the customer what he wants", which meant things were forced. Songs weren't happening naturally, like they had in the past, and for an artist, I imagine (though we are all capable artists in my opinion) this must be the worst.

This really lit my fire. (Had to.)

We try to force things a lot. And this brought me right back to a Huffington Post article I read several weeks ago asking what we are willing to suffer for. We all want things. We all want things really badly. But what are we willing to suffer for? (I highly suggest reading the article.)

So, naturally, I put all this together. For over 25 years, I've been willing to suffer for the beautiful game of soccer. I've lived all over the world. I've put in well over my 10,000 hours. I've let it rip my heart out of my chest (emotionally and physically) and bruise my body (and ego) and like an abusive boyfriend who loves you when no one is watching, kept going back every time. Because it was always worth suffering for. And to me, it always will be.

But there are so many things that I've tried (applause for trying) and failed miserably, simply because, I realize now, I simply didn't want it bad enough.

I think that's a hard realization to come to for a lot of people. Because that ideal life is so appealing. It's so tempting, yet it's just not appealing enough for you to want it sometimes.

For me, and yeah it's a bit personal maybe, but I always had this idea that I could be a huge socialite. It's comical to me now, because it's really not what I wanted at all. I truly dislike being in big groups of people. I tried to love it for a long time. I convinced myself I needed to learn how to dance and "do what everyone else was doing". For five years, nothing changed. During 2013, mostly through my journaling and reflecting, I realized that I didn't want that at all. I really enjoyed solitude and being in small groups or one on one with people.

I had played with that idea a few years ago when I was living in Brazil. I read Walden (Thoreau) around that time and remembered being around people constantly (I lived in a house with almost the entire Santos team- almost 30 people) and rarely had any time to myself. This is when I truly learned to appreciate it, but later disregarded it because I was in a foreign country.

I'm very content knowing I'm a loner. I don't have a group of "girls". I don't attend happy hour. What I do have are incredible human beings placed all around the world that I can sit down and have a cup of coffee with and feel completely consumed with every word they say and every thing that they do.

I think that's enough for tonight. The other stuff can wait.

Except … if I was more of a socialite, I probably wouldn't even notice that my mom still has those Welch jelly jars… because I doubt I'd be okay living at home at 30 years old. But man, I just don't mind it at all.

When you figure out what makes you happy (and what you're willing to suffer for), and are okay with it, everything starts to come a little more naturally. It really does.

(Bad) Day After (Bad) Day

It's come to my attention (mostly through social media) and the occasional human interaction, that many people succumb to having more bad days than good days. It is to my belief that regardless of what happens throughout a day, if a bad thing occurs, it is automatically heralded as a bad day in its entirety.

Things that can contribute to a bad day may include: a flat tire, your dog peeing on your carpet, you stepping in the pee with your socks on, you not having anymore clean socks to wear, Starbucks getting your order wrong, spilling said wrong order on your shirt, traffic making you late for work, your kid forgetting their homework at home and you have to bring it to them, rain, snow, wind, rude customers, rude drivers, rude... every body is rude, and the famous -having to go to work.

All these things, or some of these things, have happened to many us of throughout our little journey called life. They happen. And they piss people off like no other.

At first I was concerned with the people of planet Earth. I thought to myself "however will we continue on as a human race if all these things bother us so often." Then the 20 second older and more mature version of myself realized "duh, I haven't told anyone how to fix this problem, it's my fault!"

ALAS!

By Webster's definition, I am considered an adult. By many adult's definitions, I'm considered young still. By my definition and most of the people I ask face-to-face, I'm considered awesome.

So here, for you, I have my almost-adult-like-way-of-having-awesome-days-while-still-being-an-adult…kinda.

Rule 1: You look stupid AF (the kids use that, it means as fuq) when you let stupid shit get to you. Like you look so stupid. If you let good things get to you as much as you let stupid shit get to you, you would look like you won the lotto every day. But you don't. You let the parking meter guy get to you. And he wins. And he loves it. And you look stupid as shit. Stop. Doing. That.

Rule 2: Let love win … haha no, that's not Rule 2. Rule 2 is don't let stupid shit get to you! Yep, again. You definitely didn't listen the first time.

Rule 3: The people you want to keep in your life are not the people that welcome you to bitch and moan about everything humanly possible. Those people just encourage the whole looking stupid thing. You want to know who is worth your time? The person that says, stop it, you look stupid AF. And if you think that it's okay to let every little thing bother you, then stop reading this. Because you won't like the rest of what I have to say.

Rule 4: Throughout your "miserable" day, good things will happen. You will have a very hard time recognizing them, because you are so caught up in looking stupid AF, so it's likely you miss them. You are consumed with telling everyone your problem via social media, text messages, emails, etc… that even though your boss just said your hair looks lovely today, you shrug it off because "I don't have time for compliments, this awful coffee I continue to drink is not what I ordered." LET IT GO. See the good.

Rule 5: That nice thing you keep thinking about doing or saying for the past few weeks… here's an idea. Do it. It will make you happy. And not look stupid AF. We are conditioned on this new Earth to think that by doing something nice for someone we will look stupid AF or obsessive or weird and that is just not true because it's so damn rare now. Just do/say what you're thinking. We know someone is likely having a bad day and we can actually help them. So please, be a good human and do it.

Rule 6: If you can't help but always be a miserable human, stay away from the rest of us. Please. ELO said it best with "Don't Bring Me Down" . If you want to get better and I highly suggest you should want that, then yes, give me a call, I'll help. But if you need a bitch session, all day erryday, go away.

Okay, so the rules were mostly for fun. And because I like saying stupid AF. But on a serious note, it's easier to let the bad things get to us than the good things. It's easy to complain and give in to misery. We all do it. And we have all done it. It's not realistic to say that every person should be the bubbly ray of sunshine that goes around kissing people on the forehead. That's definitely not me, that's for sure.

But over the years I have forced myself to learn how to control my attitude and my days. I have taken control of all the situations in my life as best as I can. Which has been a difficult road. Mostly because I'm a worrier. That's why my friends call me Ocho, because I worry eight days a week. (That's not true). Most of my friends refuse to call me Ocho.

I've gotten to the point where I can allow hearing a good song on the radio make my day. Or getting a really good cup of coffee from Dunkin Donuts. Or having a good juggling session or run. Notice I didn't even say great. Because it doesn't always need to be great for it to make me feel great. I let the good play over and over in my head throughout the day. And I think about it while I'm falling asleep. Bad things still happen throughout my day, but I don't let them mess with my beat. And neither should you.

That's my advice for the day. And if you need a little push each day, do what I do and listen to the opening of this song (up until 23 seconds) while imagining yourself walking in slow motion down a crowded street where people are voluntarily moving out of your way: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S_wzi-kTVOI

Runaway (to) Train(ing)

As I might have mentioned, I still live at home. Mostly because I know deep down it would crush my mom for me to move out. (wink face)

My cousins live down the street. They have a 2-year-old. His name is Mikey. He is pictured here. 

During the day, they work. During the day, my mom babysits him. During the day, if I'm home, I hang out with a 2-year-old.

Aside from a 28-year age difference, we actually have a lot in common. We annoy my mother. We watch movies on the computer. We take selfies. We play the (fake Guitar Hero) guitar and pretend we're rockstars. We play dress up. We play soccer in the house. The usual.

The biggest difference I've noticed between Mikey and me is that when I'm tired I have no problem admitting it. When he's tired, he is in complete denial. And isn't afraid for everyone to know it.

Putting him down for a nap is harder than convincing a ref to change his mind on a call. Truly, impossible at times. But I think he gets some kind of joy out of it. And of course I laugh. Because honestly, kids do the funniest things sometimes and I know it's wrong, but I can't help it.

Today I asked Mikey to ask my mom why she has a porcelain rabbit in the house. For ten minutes straight Mikey then said, "why is bunny there?" (lolz) My mom wasn't amused. Obviously, I was.

(I still don't know why we have it in the house.)

I'm unsure exactly what Mikey is like when he gets home. I know there are several things I have taught him that may not be ideal in public situations. For example, we sing a song called "Diarrhea In My Pants" which he blurted out at his grandmother's house during dinner one night. It's catchy if you sing it in an Opera-like way. And sometimes, he does have it in his diaper, so it's not like it's a lie or anything.

Anyway, I'm sure there will be many stories about Mikey to come, but he had to get a proper introduction and I think I did great to paint a picture of what he's all about. 

As for me… tonight I'm sitting home alone. When my mom leaves the house she usually leaves one of us in charge for the night. Since I've been sick, Simba (the cat) has been left in charge. So I'm not sure how I'm getting dinner just yet.

I've also been told to stay home because I'm not ready to brave the real world just yet (still sick). Several times I've thought about sneaking out to go watch my team's training session outside. I then thought how I must be in the minority on that one. And stayed in bed. Whatever. It gave me a clever title at least.

I'm off to find dinner and hope that Simba allows me to use the stove tonight. #rude

Come back soon!

So Sick, but not of love songs

"Why did you do an intro post for a blog you've had for a while now?"Because I do what I want.

"No for real, why?" Truthfully, I do better under pressure. By saying I was going to do something, I kind of, have to do it.

Awesome.

I've had a lot of time to sit around and think the past couple of days. I've been sick. Really sick.

If I tell you what happened… Eh, forget it, I'll just tell you.

I have some mild bronchitis. My cough has been intense enough to keep my cat away. As well as most of the humans in my life. So I went to the walk in. I got some meds. I was on the path to recovery. Things were golden.

Until the meds hit me too hard. I was sick to my stomach. I was in the bathroom and thought I fell asleep to take a nap (yes in the bathroom). I felt really peaceful actually. Until a rush of water hit my face and my mom was trying to wake me up. Apparently I passed out and hit my head on the bath tub. Sounds like a drunken disaster, but no this is real life. My mom called 911 and I spent a few hours in the hospital with her.

But I'm okay.  No concussion or anything. Because I'm a warrior. No, just kidding. I'm not a warrior. I'm a big baby and this sucks. I'm just lucky I'm 30 years old and still live with my mom.I've been in bed for like four days still coughing.

Fortunately, this whole thing has given me time to slow down and relax a little.

The past few months have looked a little like this:

RUN-->KICK BALL-->LIFT WEIGHTS-->COACH SOCCER-->SOCCER MAGAZINE-->EAT-->SLEEP (Rinse. Repeat.)

I have found during this time how much I enjoy coaching and the impact it has as I continue to grow as a player myself. Every time I tell a player to work harder on the field or track back for the ball, a lazy bone in my body dies. It's kind of impressive. It's also impressive how inspiring these young players can be for their coaches. I never in a million years would have thought that, until I got to know them.

Seeing how hard they work and how big some of them dream is truly motivation for me to continue doing the same.

The coolest experience I've had so far with coaching is the idea that the more I put into it, the more they get out of it. It's no longer about putting in the work for myself. All the work I put in is for the success of the players. This takes a totally different mindset because as a professional athlete, I'm quite used to everything being all about me. I have been humbled by the experience and I kind of like it.

I do step on the field every once in a while and remind them what's up. But other than that, it's their show. I have my own training during the day, so I'm getting what I need. Now I'm just able to turn off that professional athlete mentality and focus on the young career's of about 60 kids.

It's awesome. If you're a player and don't like coaching, try putting everything you have into it for a little while. When you see the players improve and enjoy the game, it's a special, special thing.

End rant. Until next time.

Going back to blogging, blogging

I'm sure this is the longest I've ever gone without blogging. I'm sure there's a good reason for that somewhere in my personal journals. But generally speaking, the reason for my return stems from my need to share. Because I have a lot of (what I consider) knowledge and I'm really funny. The world deserves that. Also, my latest book endeavor is that of a Jim Morrison biography.More than a massive rock star, Jim Morrison was a writer and poet and recorded all of his thoughts in notebooks, even from a very young age. After he graduated from UCLA, he got rid of all of his notebooks.  And he had this to say about it, "There's nothing I can think of that I'd rather have in my possession right now than two or three of those lost notebooks. I wrote in those notebooks night after night. But maybe if I hadn't thrown them away, I'd never have written anything original… I think if I'd never gotten rid of them, I'd never [have] been free."

I think he could have benefitted from maybe putting them in a safe or giving them to someone to hold onto, but regardless, there was a part of him that wanted them back at one point. I'm certain he wasn't the only one who would have loved to read those notebooks.

Why so much on The Doors frontman? Well, aside from being a drugged out loose cannon, the guy was a genius. And I love geniuses. Not because I am one or anything (though some may argue that, and I'm totally up for hearing the debate) but because those kinds of geniuses are so damn intriguing.

What is a genius? "A person with exceptional ability, esp of a highly original kind."

Seems simple enough. It makes you wonder why we can't just put some words down on paper and have people lined up on the street to read it. Only to forget it. And need to read it again. But that's not the case. Nothing I write is out of the ordinary or genius. And I'm okay with that. I wasn't for a long time. Because I have this "problem" with having to be great at everything I do. And I couldn't fathom why my blog wasn't one of the best on the internet yet.

At times this would deter me from writing publicly. I felt more of a genius in my personal journal because every time I would write that last period (as if I were hitting publish on my blog) I felt like I had just wrote this century's best work. And there was no way for anyone else to argue that. No stats on my blog. No comment section to leave blank. I was content knowing it was my piece of genius.

So I've returned to the public forum with a different mission. Not to prove to the world that I'm a genius, because all my genius work stays in my personal journal (obviously). But instead to share. I have ideas. I have things that work for me that might work for you. I have goals and dreams and things to say that I don't' have time to text everyone I know about. They're nothing earth shattering. But they're mine. And I love the idea that what's mine can be yours and vice versa.

The world is filled with more opinions than ever before. Everyone is an "expert" on how to find the right person, how to get fit, how to sleep better or eat healthier. Truthfully, there's only one thing that we are all experts on and that's being ourselves. That's all we can be the best at anymore. The challenge we have as people is to know ourselves well enough to outwardly explain our thoughts, feelings and actions in a way that make people understand who we are. Because for the most part, we suck at that.

Sometimes my thoughts don't make sense. Sometimes they are irrational and unconventional and my sentences aren't even complete. I don't think it matters though. I'm going to write and someone will read and maybe we'll connect on some level that wouldn't have existed had I not tried to figure myself out.

Jim Morrison didn't care what people thought. He did his own thing and didn't care to be like the rest and look at the magical music he wrote.

Today, it seems like everyone is trying to stand out and be different, but does anyone ever take the time to figure out why? Would be cool to know some times.

I'm not sure. Maybe they do. I know I don't analyze enough. I don't know a lot of things about myself still. But I'm going after it… me. In a time where we can easily access anything we want about anyone in the world, we should be internally Google searching ourselves.

For now, this is all I know…

I don't want to wake up one day wishing I had notebooks that never even existed. I want to wake up knowing everything about myself and if I forget, I can read it in my old books. Because I do forget.

What I'm trying to say here is that I'm going to be writing more. So maybe just keep your eye out, k?

An Ironic Smile

As I packed my bags for our East Coast trip to New York, I realized I had way more stuff than when I arrived two months ago. A few trips to the Nike and adidas employee stores will do that to you I guess. Having somehow zipped the last zipper of my borrowed Portland Pilots duffle bag (traumatic), I sat by my luggage wondering who was going to carry all that stuff to the car. Unfortunately for me, my brother wasn't around and I had to do it alone.

Once I was back in the house doing my last check for anything I might have forgotten, I realized I didn't have any of my material items in sight. Even my phone was in the car. All I had for that brief moment was all I was.

Though not the ideal time for a defining moment in one's life, it was a feeling I'll never forget.

---

When I came to Portland two months ago, I had a picture of what things would look like. I saw the YouTube videos of the team playing in front of 15,000 people and looked up places I would visit once I was there. I looked at the roster to see who I knew and who I thought I would be friends with (come on, everyone does that).

I mapped out what life as a Thorn would be like. It was like my own little mental book.

But even at 29 years old I'm still not emotionally intelligent enough to realize that planning and wondering is a waste of my time. It's never what I expect. And this experience was no different.

I was watching Friday Night Lights and this made me perk up:

"There ain't much difference between winnin' and losin', except for how the outside world treats you. But inside you, it's about all the same. It really is."

Whether we won or lost on Saturday wouldn't have mattered to me. Of course it's amazing to win. But the way I felt inside the past few months was enough to walk away fulfilled. I'm filled with love and satisfaction; personal achievement and team accomplishment. The way this team came together toward the end of the season was enough in itself. We learned about each other and ourselves, how to play different roles and to be ready for anything. We watched on as each person grew.

We saw practice players train as if their only goal was to make each of us better. We saw Becky Edwards and Nikki Washington jogging at our last training of the season after knee surgeries. We saw Alex Morgan and Tobin Heath cheering from the bench as if the game depended on the strength of their voices. We saw Adelaide Gay, my vote for teammate of a lifetime, make sure Karina LeBlanc had everything she needed before each and every match. We saw Christine Sinclair put the team on her back time and time again. We saw Rachel Buehler go into tackles that most American football players wouldn't go into. We saw Nikki Marshall and Danielle Foxhoven work as if the tank never emptied. And Allie Long play a position she never has as if she had her whole life. And SO much more of course. The longer I was there the more I saw people being themselves, on and off the field, one of the most inspiring things to see in this world. Because it reminds me to be myself. Which at times, is easy to forget, but vital in the quest for happiness.

I know I'm only a day or so out of season, but I'm not in Portland anymore. I'm not with my teammates anymore. My cleats are put away. So when I hear songs from the season I turn them off right away. I don't want to hear them. I don't like to listen to music that brings out that much emotion. It reminds me of that time and place and I don't want to forget that feeling. So I save it for when I really crave it - because I don't want it to remind me of something else. And I don't want to lose the feelings it brings out of me.

So I sit in silence a lot now. Reflecting about everything that has happened the past few months. The good and the bad. I think of my life like a book still and like a hopeless romantic and a writer, I don't think I could have written a better story myself. Like I said, I feel filled. And it's because of the people that, only two months ago, weren't even a thought in my life, but now I couldn't imagine being without.

There's something about fighting with a person for a common goal and seeing each other succeed that brings out something in you that you didn't know you even had. Almost to the point where you'd rather see them succeed than yourself. Because you know their struggle and they know yours. And your happiness is a direct result of theirs.

It's special.

Finally. I can walk away from Portland and my teammates and the amazing fans with an ironic smile. I say ironic because I'm not happy to be leaving. If I was then I did something wrong. I didn't give enough or I didn't put myself out there enough or work hard enough. But I did all those things. So I'm happy knowing that I'm sad.

For me, there is no better feeling in the world... To know that I left with so much more than what I came with.

Superheroes

The night before our last regular season home game I watched The Dark Knight because it happened to be on TV. Similar to when Pink Floyd is on the radio, I can never turn Batman off the TV if it's on. There aren't many movies that can take me away from my cell phone, or my selfie phone as I like to refer to it now, but Batman hits me where it matters - right in the feels.

When I was little, I had a streak of about five years where I was Batman for Halloween. Not Cat Woman. Not Poison Ivy (as if anyone would be her anyway) and certainly not Vicki Vale. (I don't even count Batgirl, sorry). I was Batman. I was a superhero. And that image as a six-year-old has rarely escaped my mind.

That image is something I've taken seriously, but mostly on the field. I mean sometimes I feel pretty good about myself when I can help my cat unhook his claw from the blanket, but realistically, he can get it himself if he really wanted to.

When I think of saving the day, I think of scoring the winning goal or clearing a ball off the goal line (I did it once, it was AWESOME); making a diving save or a big time tackle on a breakaway - or slotting the ball across the goal so that a teammate can easily help you save the day.

It's a special feeling. To contribute to something bigger than yourself. To see the look on your teammate's faces and hear the cheers from the crowd, that tell you how much they appreciate what you just did.

When the banner came up of the Thorns as superheroes  - all I could think was, holy shit. Then I turned in circles hoping to see my own cape. I realized after a few spins that it wasn't physically there, but it's always there in my mind and in my heart.

Then I thought...

Knowing that our fans think that of us, that they believe in us so much as to think we are superhero-like, is one of the best compliments we can get as an athlete.  (FYI: The other one is "you're really pretty").

The funny thing about our fans, especially the Rose City Riveters, is that they are our Alfred Pennyworths. They make us feel more like superheroes than any goal, save or tackle could. The support that they and the city of Portland have shown us this season is something so special that even I struggle to find the words.

But let me try. Imagine doing what you love for a living. Then imagine 15,000 people cheering you on every time you land a plane or publish a book. Or whatever it is you love doing.

Then imagine your competitor trying to bring you down. And those same 15,000 people standing behind you saying "no, honey, you need to take a step back, this is our house." And that happening every single day.  And even if you make a mistake on the job, like the best friend that will always tell you "you were too good for Zac Efron anyway", they will show you unconditional love like you've never experienced.

When someone has your back, you truly feel like you can do anything. Your superhero superpower is invincibility. You're untouchable. Being on a field competing in an arena like professional sports, there's nothing more powerful.

This superhero feeling was confirmed this morning at the airport.

The woman checking us in recognized us - I'll assume it's because we were wearing Portland Thorns gear though, because I wasn't wearing my headband (Side note: at times I don't even recognize me without my headband). She told us that we had inspired her granddaughter to play soccer again after previously quitting to run cross country.

I'm sure some of it was from being up so early without having had a coffee, but my blank stare was that of pure flattery.

We might not be the superheroes that save the world.  But we sure as hell are trying to be the superheroes that bring home a championship for the fans that have made us who we are and even more so, for the ones that want to be who we are.

So for all the Portland Thorns fans, in Portland and all over the world, thank you for making our regular season so special and so memorable.  Many of us have craved that kind of support for a long ass time. It's my hope that we can build on it, so the young ones can have it even better than we have had.

The Pursuit of Great

I randomly picked out the book Examined Lives by James Miller - because like most athletes, I think I'm on the path to becoming the next Socrates. (The irony of that statement is that Socrates was also one of the Brazilian soccer players I grew up idolizing - video clips here). Regardless of all the amazing coincidences that naturally occur during my writing, Miller talks about some of the greatest philosophers of all time and ends the chapter about Socrates with this bit of verbal gold:

"I know of no better aim of life than that of perishing, animae magnae prodigus, in pursuit of the great and the impossible." - Friedrich Nietzsche

From what I can gather, this means: using all of your strength and energy and life to follow your wildest dreams.

This intrigued the shit out of me. Mostly because there was a time when I had the wrong dreams. And it wasn't too long ago either.

Growing up I wanted to play professional soccer. Okay, so I did that, does that mean I'm done dreaming? Nah. It actually means I needed a change.  It's pretty amazing how your dreams change as you get older. It's more amazing when you realize what's important and what you really want out of life.

So now, at 29 years old, my dreams are much more in my control: to be the best person/player I can possibly be. Wow. That's actually attainable no matter what happens in my life. That is completely up to me.

The irony? That dream never stops being a dream. It's possible that it's never 100% fulfilled. It's possible that up until the very last breath I take, I'm always trying to achieve this.

When I step out on the field for training with the Portland Thorns, I take in a lot of things. Because I'm a philosopher, remember? I think about things more than I should. Like how if I remained the same person/player I was in 2005, I would never be here today. And if I had kept the same dreams throughout this process, I wouldn't be playing at all. I'm sure of that.

In 2007 I met someone that changed my life forever. I've written about him on this blog before, though for different reasons. His name is Mike LeGates and he's my mentor/trainer/friend. He's one of those rare gems that never gets the attention he deserves because he doesn't really even care about it. He does what he does because he loves it.

He taught me how to train and be a professional. He taught me that the game doesn't owe me anything... that if I don't play because I enjoy it, I'll walk away feeling empty after it's over. Without knowing it, he helped me shape my dreams into what they are today and in doing so, made me love life so much more.

The best part about my new dreams is that some cool things happen as a result of wanting to be the best I can be. Like playing for the Thorns. And being the editor of a women's soccer magazine. And traveling the world. And, oh yeah, meeting people who live their lives the same way.

I don't fault people for having dreams like being rich, or making the national team, or wanting to be the next Beyonce. We're told to have dreams like that from a young age. We are molded in a way that if we don't make it to that point, we didn't make it at all.  So it's a win or lose type of thing. And, wow, imagine how many people out there feel as if their life isn't good enough.

If I can impart one piece of advice to everyone, it's this (though I have given way more than that over time): it's never too late to change your dreams. It's never too late to become the best you can possibly be. It's never too late to work as hard as you possibly can. It's never too late to be the person you always  wanted to be.

"I know of no better aim of life than that of perishing, animae magnae prodigus, in pursuit of the great and the impossible." - Friedrich Nietzsche

The search for the best possible you might seem like an endless one. It might seem impossible. But we have to try. We have to give everything in the pursuit to find it.

"Get great or die trying" - Tiffany Weimer

Taking the Next Step

This is my first post since joining the Portland Thorns of the NWSL. If you weren't aware that I changed teams, now you know. I made the daring move from my "comfortable" life overseas back to the country I was born in. I imagine people have been dying for a post about the Thorns. I feel like they want to read about how Christine Sinclair never misses a shot in training or how Alex Morgan has a professional hairstylist straighten her pony tail every day for training.  Or maybe how Rachel Buehler randomly tackles complete strangers while walking down the street. Haha - what? None of those things are true.

I've been here for a little less than three weeks so far. As one can imagine, it's not an easy process to come into a team midseason, especially when you wear a headband. Everyone has established their place within the team, friendships have been made and well the new "kid" is almost 30 years old, and doesn't like to dance.

So here's the thing. I've had the opportunity to sit down and talk with almost everyone on the team. I've had the chance to get to know more about them than just what foot they'd like to receive the ball on. And my findings have been so impressive that I've felt compelled to write about them.

The thing people tend to forget about professional athletes is that they're a special breed. And I definitely don't mean that in the sense that they were born with special talents or physical attributes. They're special because the road to get to this point is difficult. Many of them have been through some shit... family stuff, injuries, living in different countries  - the road isn't easy. It's sometimes lonely. It's full of emotions we probably didn't even know existed. But it molds us into this passionate, competitive, detail-orientated monster that never takes the world as it is, demanding more not only from ourselves, but from everyone in our lives.

This puts us in a pretty incredible position. When we're at training we know we're among some of the most talented, hardworking soccer players in the world.  The fun part is that when we're not on the field, it's most of the same.  We inspire each other,and likely without ever knowing it, push one another to be more than we would have if we were doing this alone.

This has done so much for me in the short time I've been here.

And here's where shit gets real.

The feeling of inadequacy is natural in people. There's always more we can be doing and everyone knows it about themselves. I think there's a dangerous level of this where people never think they're good enough, but also a healthy level where we continue to push ourselves to see where we can go.

In my adjustment period, I've not only wanted to adapt to a new style of play, formation, coaches and environment on the field, but also the environment off the field. My teammates have inspired me to become more. I think that means they're special people.

We all place limits on ourselves. I had kind of capped my capabilities as a thinker. As a creator. As a writer. Not on purpose though. It just gradually happened. But sometimes all it takes is a conversation with someone new... hearing a different way of thinking, for us to reevaluate where we are and take the next step.

Because let's face it ... we're all just a little inspiration, probably just one conversation actually, away from that next step in our lives. We just have to make sure we don't miss it when it's there.