If you know me now, you may never had guessed I was once the shy kid. And when I say shy, I mean shy. I was totally and completely introverted, the kind where you refuse to make doctor appointments or order food at a restaurant or ask for directions to the bathroom. My place was at the back of the room, completely unnoticed, and that's how I liked it. I lived as the invisible women for my first 13 years. It wasn't until I began playing volleyball that I peeked out of my shell.

Middle School is the first evolution of a person, and like a Pokemon, there are still many more changes to come if you want to be fully evolved. Most of my friends had decided to be cheerleaders, but it was clear the sport wasn't for me. I had no interest in flipping, or pom-poms, or skirts. Being a tomboy I grew up as, I wanted something gritty. I chose volleyball. Looking back, there is no question in my mind that this was one of my best decisions to date. I had some natural ability when it came to diving face first just to save a ball. No other girls seemed to enjoy it quite like I did; it must've been all those muddy water slides I threw myself down as a kid. For this knack, I was introduced to the position of Libero. As a Libero, I was expected to be the best passer, which entailed digging, diving, and sacrificing your entire body for the sake of every point. Imagine a goalie, but on hardwood - that was my job.

I became truly serious about the sport in seventh grade and decided to join a travel volleyball team. I realized that in order to achieve my position, I had to stand out. There was no way I was going to be a captain, or leader of any form. I wanted to earn my position, and remain in the back row as Libero. Unseen, unheard, out of mind. As it turns out, I was wrongly mistaken. My next few years of volleyball taught me that Liberos carry an instrumental role in the team. They need to be all-seeing, quick-footed, and leadership material. Calls made for serves, hits, blocks, and particular sets can often be the Libero's choice. They must be the glue that holds a team together, for a pass is truly the start of the offense. A younger me would've easily passed up such responsibility, but I was in love with the sport, and sometimes passion overtakes sanity.

And so I started branching outside of my shell. I began slow and steady, making a few comments of advice, or cheering on my teammates a bit louder. Next thing I knew, I was being asked more and more often by my coaches to be a leader. I had a lot of knowledge about the game, and I have always been someone who likes to mediate between others. Those two qualities led me into being a candidate for captain, but I had one task: be louder. I cannot tell you how many times I was reminded to be LOUD. Coaches were counting on me to step up, and I decided that unlike my usual demeanor, I was going to rise to the occasion. It didn't happen overnight, it took many, many years of learning the art of leadership. It happens when a team needs it most; when you're down two points and the other team is one away from a win, or when a team develops a low confidence problem, or when the opposing team is displaying poor sportsmanship. It's in these cases were a player is expected to act maturely and take the wheel. I became someone glad to take the wheel, at first by just a finger, then a hand, and suddenly two hands with foot pressing on the pedals.My hardest lessons came from this transition, but they would aid me in choices down the road, and I am forever thankful for the coaches who made me become the person I am today. One in particular was my varsity coach as I entered high school: Stacey McNally. She refused to let me hide, or whimper in fear. Her quote "the desire to win must overcome the fear to lose" has become my life's mantra. This applies to not just sports, but life itself.

Now, I find myself in over 10 different extra curricular activities, many of which where I hold leadership roles. My opinionated voice is always finding its way out in any discussion. My last volleyball coach, Will Kline, nicknamed me "fireball", a name that reflected my crazy, loud, and quick volleyball tendencies; I was quick to fire up my teammates and the pace of the game. Despite all of this, in no way will I ever truly be extroverted. I find myself exhausted when constantly surrounded by others and my social anxiety is still prevalent in many cases. I just simply learned when it was necessary, or rather vital, for me to take my knowledge and expertise, and apply it for the greater good. I cannot say this lesson will apply to everyone, because many, many people are in their best form when they are quiet. The secret about the shy is, they listen to everything. All of us shy children know your secrets, and be warned, we are not afraid to use them! Truthfully, many people excel when left in the comfort of their individual presence, and that is just fine. Nobody is made to excel in the same way, but as it turned out, I was meant to step outside of my comfort zone. I first took a step, then another, and now a massive blind leap into the abyss, but I wouldn't rather exist anywhere else.