9
Young Dreams

"One doesn't discover new lands without losing sight of the shore." André Gide

His time had come. It was what he was born for. It was what he had dedicated the last few years of his life to. And it would all pay off now. All those sleepless nights, all those other missed opportunities, all those hours spent looking at frames, at statistics, at his predecessors. From the East Coast to the West Coast, from the West to the East, all the players he had aspired to be like, all the players he had admired, and all the players he had wished he could play with, he would be playing against—with just three months' practice he would be the best.

From the American players to the European players, from the Chinese players to the Korean players, from the German players to the Japanese players, from the Australian players to the Mexican players, from the Swedish players to the Brazilian players—with just three months' practice he would be up on the stage with the best.

In just a few days' time he would leave home, leave behind everyone he'd ever known, every face he'd ever seen in person, every friend he'd ever made, every place he'd ever visited—because he was the best.

He thought it'd be easy to leave it all behind. He thought it'd be easy to just pack up and leave. He hadn't thought this far ahead, he hadn't thought his heart could weigh his body down, he hadn't considered how hard it would be to let go. He hadn't considered how hard it would be to grow up; he hadn't considered that he may not be ready when his time would come. He thought it would just be easy to be the best.

But he had to endure. He had done it so far, and he could do it again, and again, and again. He had to endure, he had to adapt, he had to grow. He had to nourish his dream, he had to actualize it, he had to make it be, because no one else would do it for him. He had to strive for it, he had to work towards it, he had to find himself a muse, he had to find himself a reason—and it was that he had to be the best.

If he knew it would be this hard to move on, if he knew it would be this hard to grow, if he knew he would be internally torn at the last second, he may have done things differently. He may have stayed nearby, he may have changed his dreams. He may have admired the local heroes, he may have challenged a local issue, he may have been a different person, rather than to be the best.

But this was his dream, and even if he had known this all, he would do it again anyway. He would do it again and endure—he'd have to—to be the best.