Taking Swings
“Wow, you play so differently now. What happened to you?” my teammates shouted to me as we high-fived, celebrating our volleyball team’s first big win in my sophomore year. I grinned.
As the only child of Chinese immigrants, my parents created a blueprint alongside me to raise a daughter who could shine in a foreign country while preserving traditional Chinese virtues. Every night, I would reflect on my behavior and write a daily summary measuring myself against the “10 Good Qualities,” such as being kind, respectful, and responsible. Most qualities came easy: I’d always give up my spot on the swing at recess, pick up trash by the tetherball stands, and later, joining volleyball, cheer on my teammates when we were down and showed grit by persevering even when exhausted. But one trait on the list remained stubbornly unchecked: bravery. Being brave meant risking mistakes, and worse, letting down those around me. How could I do that?
Many times on the volleyball court, I had the perfect opportunity to rip the ball down for the kill. But each time, I’d remember all the practices where I slammed the ball with my utmost force just for it to go into the net. Don’t mess up, is what I think, just get the ball over. So I would simply lightly tip the ball, only to be easily received by a defender. Each play drags on as we defend relentlessly, but we can’t score. The season ended disappointingly as we finished 46th out of 52 teams.
That was when I decided to play with bravery for my team. During the volleyball summer camp after my freshman year, I took large swings at every chance I got. However, each time I made a mistake, I felt my gut twist violently and I prayed that other players weren’t staring at me with contempt. After every lost point, I’d rush to apologize despite encouragement from my teammates who said “Don’t worry, you got the next one.” Eventually, one girl responded to my constant apologizing in a different manner. “You don’t have to apologize, everyone makes mistakes. What matters is that you’re doing your best.”
Her comment made me realize that making mistakes in front of others wasn’t humiliating: whenever my teammate made an error I never felt any semblance of annoyance towards them, so why did it matter if it was me who made one? The weight of not wanting to disappoint others began to unchain as I started jumping with increased explosive power. Even when I got stuffed in the face by a monstrous block, I kept swinging as hard as possible with sweat staining my eyes and an ugly purple crescent moon engulfing my knees.
Returning to club season, I played on the same team. My previous hesitation turned into immediate launches, free balls into backrow attacks and light tips into powerful swings. The team’s energy skyrocketed. By the end of the season, we rose in rank and became our club’s first competitive travel team. We were able to win the 2024 Regional Championship–a feat that had once seemed impossible.
Bravery had finally become incorporated into my daily summaries. I no longer feel anxious about taking risks for the better of those around me. I took the initiative to coach and mentor young players in my community, whereas my old self would have shied away, fearing I’d miss a serve or prove unqualified. I raised my hand to take the lead in my group’s DECA presentation, even though other team members had more experience. The risk was there, but so was the reward when we stood together at nationals.
I realized bravery doesn’t stand alone. It amplifies every other quality—deepening respect into trust, strengthening responsibility into leadership, turning kindness into action. Ready to take swings with my best effort, I feel more empowered than ever to help create better outcomes for everyone.
