Never did I ever think I would end up at Gordon College, in the state of Massachusetts. My mom is from the south, her mom is from the south, and her mom’s mom is from the south. My family had never traveled above Maryland. We enjoyed deep frying our Thanksgiving turkey in the driveway, making our iced tea extra sweet, and saying the phrase “y’all” in a professional setting.
There is also such a strong sense of community to be found in the South. It is appropriate to greet the new neighbors with homemade pie, stand in the middle of the grocery store isle talking to another dad from the town’s little league team, and even let your dog outside without a leash. And I can’t forget to mention, everyone is Christian in the South, or now to my realization, the parts I’m from. That life is where I got a sense of my identity.
At a young age I started to envision my future surrounding that identity. I imagined I would go to college at a big SEC school, making my momma and dad proud that they could represent my school’s colors. Momma could wear a sundress to the football tailgates, and my dad would clean up with a striped collared shirt that has my school’s logo. Maybe I’d even participate in a sorority. All seemed well for what younger me had planned out, however this is where you already know what I’m about to say. I did not follow through with that plan.
It wasn’t until freshman year of high school that I started playing volleyball, and it wasn’t until my sophomore year that I decided I wanted to continue it in college. So, my focus on these big universities started to shift to something more attainable for my goals. I began to reach out to mostly smaller schools in my area, and coaches from all over would reach back out to me.
When I was recruited by Gordon, it was by a different coach than the one I have now. From the beginning, I told myself that I was never seriously considering going there. A new coach was then hired for the Gordon Volleyball team. Somehow in the mix of being recruited and family friend connections, I found Gordon back on my list of potential colleges. It wasn’t until February, when I made a call to talk with the new coach, I decided on this college. I had no idea what I was getting myself into or why I made the choice that I did. It was an odd feeling I couldn’t put my finger on; there were reasons why I should and shouldn’t go, and I can’t lie and say it was my absolute dream school.
In my mind, I’m perfectly happy here, but I think my perspective on how I view my situation leaves me sitting with some disappointment, because this is never what I imagined an “accomplishment” to look like.
Over the past couple years, I have started to belittle the things that I am doing and the things I succeed in in comparison to my own expectations or what others’ lives look like. I have picked up negative thinking habits that don’t benefit me or help my progress, so much so that my parents sent me to get tested by a psychologist. The results showed that I had a major depressive disorder and anxiety. It was a lot to wrestle in high school. Since then, I have come to terms with the fact that maybe I’m not the mediocre person I view myself as, rather a victim of Comparison. Its thief-like tendencies robbed my individual sense of accomplishment. Some great things I’ve done are belittled because I leave my door open to be stolen from.
Coming to Gordon may not have matched the dream I once held, but it has taught me something far more valuable than tradition or self-image: growth doesn’t always look like we expect it to.
I used to think accomplishments had to be loud and obvious, full of school spirit, southern charm, and picture-perfect moments. But I’m learning that sometimes, real growth is quiet. Sometimes it looks like making a hard choice without knowing exactly why, sticking with something even when it feels unfamiliar, and finding strength in simply showing up. What I’ve come to realize is that I’m not falling short, but I’ve just been holding myself to unrealistic expectations. The version of success I built in my head didn’t leave room for change or challenges. But those things are a part of my story now. And instead of viewing them as detours, I’m beginning to see them as evidence of resilience and proof that I’m still becoming who I’m meant to be.
Comparison may still knock on my door, but I’m working on keeping it from coming inside. I’ve learned that accomplishments aren’t defined by how well they align with old plans or other people’s standards, but by the courage it takes to keep moving forward when the path changes. Choosing this journey even through doubt, comparison, and self-discovery has shaped me in ways that no SEC school or tailgate ever could. And maybe that’s the kind of accomplishment worth being proud of.
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