For the last 14 years, my dream career was to become a professional soccer coach. I love staring  at the perfectly manicured grass, the sounds of players chatting and cleats clacking, the feeling of unleashing a full sprint as the ball bounces away from me. I knew I wasn’t good enough to have a professional career; My lungs are too shallow and my feet too flat to extend it beyond playing left bench for a high school team. I tried working as equipment manager for the boys and girls teams but, like many 14-year-olds, I wanted people to do what I said since no one in other parts of my life seemed to listen. Being a coach was the way I’d get that done.

 I began volunteer coaching after my junior year and continued it on and off throughout college. Despite the lack of experience or playing ability, I achieved my dream: I became a college coach. I had reached the summit. My future was in front of me, the dream becoming a quick reality and the peak was in reach.

It was short lived. The pandemic and incompatibility between my school led me to being disillusioned. I quit only 8 months into the position.

 In the meantime, I found my way to Soccer Without Borders (SWB) as a summer camp coach. A minor set-back, of course. I’d hone my skills in a different environment, show everyone how smart I was and then get back to coaching at the professional level. 

That was 3 years ago and I am now a part-time coach for SWB’s high school team. I don’t regret my time with SWB. I have met amazing people and experienced amazing moments I wouldn’t have had anywhere else.

As I passed Highway 83 to go to north east Baltimore for my full- time job as a forester, I caught myself thinking about the fall season quickly approaching. And I felt… bored. For the first time in my life, I was convinced I didn’t want to coach anymore. I no longer wanted to lose all those afternoons, away from my fiancée and dog. I wanted that time back for myself and my hobbies. I had that thought a couple times while coaching over the years but it was always fleeting, forgotten within a couple seconds and replaced with excitement for game days and sights and sounds.

This time, the feeling was different. It felt like accepting rather than annoying, the calm emotion that rolls over you when you finally stopped fighting change in circumstance. That moment of staring out into the vast ocean of time and letting it  and you’ve come to terms with it. I didn’t and still don’t know how to handle it. 

I still love this sport. I own more than 50 soccer jerseys. I watch a litany of different leagues regularly. I frequent the Arsenal Supporters Group bar with my fiancée and a couple friends for most Arsenal games. I listen to soccer podcasts almost obsessively and I read books about it when I can’t listen.

And, yet. 

I’m sure I’ll still coach later this year. I’m sure I’ll love working with the high school boys and the joy and annoyance they bring to my life. The sounds and the smells will feel as fresh as they were on the first day on that small field coaching in my hometown, lined by long leaf pine and powerlines.

But, for the first time in my life, I can see the writing on the wall. The fire for coaching I tended to for most of my life will fizzle out if I don’t change. 

And, maybe, that’s okay.