How hockey changed my life.

It's no secret by now that hockey is a huge, huge part of my life. I love hockey. Hockey is my life. Literally. At this point,  I don't know who I would be without it.

People always talk about things like books or maybe movies or inspirational people changing their lives. I've never heard a lot of talk about how a sport changed someone's life, but I'm sure that it's happened. Because it happened to me. I also feel like I'm one of those rare breed of combination nerd/hockey fan, so I gush about my love for hockey as freely as I wish.

I started playing hockey (again) in 2008. The last time I played hockey before that was elementary school. There was no sound reason or basis for wanting to play again. I was standing with my dad, watching my brother play, and all of a sudden, out of nowhere, I said, "Hey dad. What do you think about me starting to play hockey again?"

My original suggestion was roller hockey, but he suggested ice hockey instead, which I readily agreed to. I went through the painful process of buying and then breaking in all the equipment (skates were the worst, ugh), finding a team, trying out for the team, making the team. I did endless camps and clinics over the summer. Because I'd never skated much before, I remember doing a clinic every Sunday morning with kids probably ages 7 to 10. It was combination mortifying and hilarious. Eventually I progressed, and did clinics with kids my own age--it was still mortifying because I was awful. I didn't know how to stop and couldn't lift my shot to save my life.

But eventually, I got better. There was nowhere for my level of skill to go but up, and up it went. With every new camp that I went to over the summer, the more I fell in love with hockey. By the time I started practicing with a real team in October, I knew I was hooked. So much so that I somehow got it into my head that I should play on my high school's hockey team too, which was quite the experience.

That's where it all started. And for the next four years, my life was nothing but hockey games and practices and tournaments and trying to fit in homework and seeing my friends around all that. I complained bitterly during every season. At one point I hated it. But every March, when it was time to wash my equipment (shocking, I know, but I can't deal with the smell if I don't) and put it away, I wished for a few more months to play.

Hockey changed my life. Before I started playing again, I was just another quiet girl in high school, wondering what I could do to lose weight, make myself feel confident about myself. Getting back into skates not only helped me get in shape (the second year I played was the best shape I have ever been in. Ah, the good old days when I actually had upper body strength.) but helped me to feel better about myself. For the longest time, I wished I was more like my best friend, who is tiny and petite and stays skinny with virtually no trouble. I envied her so much for that because next to her I always felt fat and hulking and gigantic. I was never skinny, even after I'd been playing for a while, but hockey helped me come to terms with that. It was okay, being the size that I was (am). If I had the body type of my friend, I wouldn't be able to play hockey because I would take one hit and fall apart on the ice (no offense, Jessica). I've learned to throw my weight around and not be afraid to use it to my advantage, especially when playing with all guys.

But even more than that, hockey is one of the few things that can make me truly happy. It fills me up, it completes me; there is nothing that playing hockey can't fix for me. If I'm having a bad day, if I'm upset or angry and need to blow off steam, hockey is my go-to solution. I prioritize it over almost everything in my life. If I have a game at 8:15, get off the ice, and someone asks if I want to play another game, I will say yes with no hesitation. If you pose the question "hockey or _______," it is highly likely that my choice will be hockey.

I have never had anything I could be so passionate about. This doesn't just go for playing hockey, it also applies to being a hockey fan. People are sometimes mocked, I think, for being sports fans, and for getting so into something that you aren't even playing. We're not on the team, no, and we don't contribute to their wins or losses. But being a sports fan is about being a part of something that's bigger than yourself. It's about losing yourself in the joy of watching two teams battle it out for victory. It's about coming together in a community of people who all share the same passion. It's about realizing that no matter how many people tell you it's just a game, it's really not.

It's something to be passionate about. It's something to share with others. It's something that allows you to make bonds with people that will always last. It's something to love. It's something to live for.

Nothing will ever be greater than the feeling of lacing up my skates and stepping out onto the ice. The first puck drop. The last two minutes of desperation in a tie game. Getting worked up and emotional over what is technically a kid's game.

I can't explain what hockey is to me. Trying to describe how I feel about hockey is like trying to describe what being in love is like. If you've never felt it, you simply will never know. And that's as far as my words will take me.

Looking forward.

As I sit here, alternating between writing this and getting ready for a party at my friend's house tonight, I'm trying to look back on this year and think about what has really stood out. This year hasn't been particularly memorable. I don't mean that it's been bad, but it hasn't been spectacularly good either. It was just another year.

If I learned anything at all then it's that I need to stop trying so hard to fix things between myself and other people. Too many times I wanted to make things right and everything just got worse. One of my few resolutions for the new year is to stop trying to keep people in my life when they won't make the same effort to keep me in theirs. Because what's the point then? Sometimes I don't want to be the one who has to fix everything, sometimes I want to see that other people want things to be fixed, and that they don't want to lose me. I'm sick of people just dropping me out of their lives like I don't have feelings. Just once, I want someone to fight for me.

I think I changed a lot during this year. The way I think, definitely, and the things I want to do with my life (mostly I have no idea, but I think that's starting to change). I'm sick of people doubting me and telling me my dreams will never come true. I don't understand why people don't believe in me, but it just makes me even more determined to prove them all wrong.

Hockey has come to play such a huge role in my life. I honestly don't know who I would be if I didn't have hockey in my life.

This year meant the end of the Harry Potter series, but it also made me realize that some things don't really ever end, and that the bonds made through it don't ever really break.

My dislike for school reached an all-time high, so much so that I am actually worried about my GPA for this semester.

I wasted my entire summer on one boy who, in the end, just forgot about me and apparently met someone new. Not sure about that. But I'm pretty sure about it. That was kind of a big thing for me. I shed way too many tears over him but I've finally been able to move on with my life.

I am who I am and I'm not going to change for anyone. If people can't deal with that, then I'm not going to deal with them.

I'm hoping that 2012 means new and exciting things for me. Hopefully at this time next year I'll be celebrating the new year in Europe, as I will be applying to study abroad for next fall semester. If I don't go, then I have plans for the following summer (in 2013), to go somewhere. I don't care what anyone says, I'm going to get my butt out of this country for a while because I do not want to be one of those people who talks and talks about going places and then never goes anywhere. We live on such a big and wonderful planet that I can't even think about not trying to see as much of it as I can.

This year has been an interesting one, at any rate. I could make all the normal, boring resolutions like lose weight, write more, keep in touch with people and blahblahblah, but those are just things that I try and do all the time.

It's time for a change in my life. I don't want to be a small-town girl with small-town dreams; I want to try new things and see new things and become someone new. I won't let myself be stuck in one place because of other people, and I know that the people who do matter will make the effort to stick with me no matter what I do or where I go.

Out with the old and in with the new. I want 2012 to be unforgettable.

130.

Something I've always wondered about is how people would react if I died. Would they be distraught? Simply sad? Would they sob until they felt completely drained? Or would they be dry-eyed, unwilling to accept my death?

I guess what I'm really wondering is how much of an impact I've made in people's lives. Would they feel my absence so intensely that they couldn't rid it from their minds even though they wanted to? Or would my death slowly fade to the background, just one of many others?

"Are you awake?" That was my mom I hear yelling up the stairs.

"Yes!" In fact, I was still in bed, and had barely lifted my head from the pillow to yell back. As soon as I heard the front door close, I shut my eyes again, trying to get back into my dream. You know--you're having a great dream and you're getting up to a great part and then something kicks you out of it--like your mom yelling at you to wake up even though it's only 8:30 in the morning and your first class isn't until 11:30.

I slept until my third alarm went off. One alarm just wasn't enough for me. I needed three. I slid out of bed, resembling a zombie the way I staggered around my room, looking for a clean pair of pants. Grey skinny jeans? Dirty. Dark blue skinny jeans? Can't find them. Black pants? In the hamper. I pulled them out, sniffed them and decided no one would really notice if I just used a few extra squirts of perfume.

I pulled off my Avery t-shirt and threw on a bra and clean shirt, leaving my skin exposed to the cold air for as little time as possible. The clock read 9:15. Plenty of time to spare.

I wake up. I go to school. I go home. Usually I'll kill time on the Internet, spending too many hours on Facebook or Twitter or YouTube. Or all three. Somewhere in there, I'll fit in homework and working out. Then I sleep and repeat. Where's the break in the monotony? Day in and day out, it's the same things over and over again. Where's my escape? What will this lead to? Only more monotony, but instead of waking up and going to school, I'll wake up and go to work, always dreaming of something more, something out of reach, something unattainable. What escape is within my reach? Is there a way out?

I sat down at my desk--second row from the door, fourth seat back--and gulped down some coffee. I placed my notebook on my desk and my textbook on top of my notebook. Same routine. Sometimes I think I preferred a routine. I would always know what was going to happen. If I had a routine, then I would always know what to expect. I would know that nothing could go wrong. There wouldn't be anything to catch me by surprise, like a punch to the stomach from someone when you think they're going in for a hug.

I began to think of more normal things, like what I was going to have for lunch when I got home because this was my only class of the day. Which homework should I do first? What workout should I do today? Maybe I should just nap instead.

My professor walked into class and my mind went blank, and the monotonous drone of his lecture filled my ears and my eyes glazed over.

It might be a little sick but sometimes I envision different death scenarios. What would be the quickest? What would be the most gruesome? How long would it take for me to bleed to death if I sliced my stomach open? What if I jumped off the top of a building? If I threw myself in front of a speeding vehicle? If I drove my own car into something at a high speed? Would that kill me or would I merely experience unspeakable levels of pain and then be thrust into therapy and onto medication until people believed I could function normally again?

Class ended and I practically sprinted out of the classroom. I was starving. I needed to get home and eat. The walk to my car went quickly, except for the part where I was looking on the wrong level of the parking deck, which only added fuel to my frustration and hunger.

Every day when my classes ended, it was like a race to my car. I wanted to get out of this place as fast as I possibly could. I didn't want to spend any more time there than necessary. I hated school. I hated those people who had their lives all fucking planned out. I hated the ambitious people who were doing double or triple majors and seventeen and a half minors and were already planning on graduate school and what they would be wearing to their wedding and how many fucking kids they were going to have and how they had so much to do but it would be so worth it.

I hated those people because I was the exact opposite. I had no idea where I was going or how I was getting there. I hated routine and I loved it. I wanted to know what was coming so I could prepare myself but I hated that trapped feeling I got when the days started to blur together because they were all the same.

I finally found my car and escaped the confines of the parking deck, thinking once more of the leftovers in the refrigerator at home.

The funny part is I have absolutely no reason to kill myself. I just happen to wonder these things from time to time. I don't know if it's weird to fantasize about my own death but it can't be that weird. It's something everyone faces.

I pressed down on the gas pedal a little harder, urging my small car to get up to speed faster as I merged onto the parkway. My coffee thermos leaned over a little precariously in the shallow cup holder--I steadied it as I cut over to the left lane and quickly reached 80 mph. That was maybe a little fast for this section of the parkway but I couldn't help it. Driving, to me, was a way I could forget the world for a little. The faster I drove, the more alive I felt. The emptier the highway, the faster I drove; the more alone I was, the harder I hit the gas pedal. I craved that adrenaline rush. The white lines blurred on the pavement; the grass was a green smudge on the side of the road. I passed by exit signs so quickly I could barely read them, but it didn't matter where I was as long as I could push the speedometer ever higher.

Sometimes I wondered what it would be like to start a day out completely normal and then die. Like, I went to school, went to class, and then just didn't make it home. What if I bypassed my exit on the parkway and kept driving until I had no idea where I was and then crashed? The worst part would be doing that and then not dying, because then people would realize how twisted my mind really was and they would be all over me about it. Why can't someone just wonder about death without being thrust into a psych ward? Everyone's so sensitive about something that happens to all of us.

Exit 163. Mine was coming up. I was in the middle lane. I stayed there. I pushed the gas pedal closer to the floor. The engine groaned a little but the needle of the speedometer moved past 80. 90. I could see the bend in the road up ahead. 100. The steering wheel began to shake in my hands. 110. 115. My hands were sweating with the effort of gripping the wheel. 120. The bend. 125. How would people react? 130.

Things to do.

• write
• make lists
• take naps
• drink tea
• take walks in the sun
• read
• indulge occasionally in something you want
• have chocolate
• go for a long drive with no destination
• do something you've never done before
• frolic in the changing leaves
• stop thinking about him
• take care of yourself
• buy pretty clothes
• go apple picking
• drink hot chocolate in the evenings
• paint your nails bright colors
• take pictures
• go to a city you've never been to before
• be carefree
• watch a good movie
• wrap yourself in blankets
• embrace the change in seasons
• make some change for yourself
• enjoy

Always.

July 21, 2007, the final Harry Potter book came out. I stood in line at midnight to get it and I stayed up all night to read it, feeling as though some chapter in my life (no pun intended) had just ended. But it wasn't quite over yet.

July 15, 2011, the final Harry Potter movie came out. I was at the theater at midnight to see it with my friends, and I cried like someone close to me had just died when the credits began to roll. It was at that point I felt like some part of my life had really and truly come to a close.

I saw the movie four times in theaters, most recently on Wednesday (the 17th). I was surprised at the number of people still flocking to the theater to see it. Granted, they put us in one of the smaller theaters, unlike the one I saw it in at the midnight premiere. But the atmosphere couldn't be more different. These people on Wednesday were just casual fans, or maybe people who were bored and couldn't think of anything else to see.

At the midnight premiere, I was surrounded by my friends and people who are just as crazy about Harry Potter as I am. People dressed up (myself included), had their books, watched the first part of the seventh movie while waiting. There was a legit race to the theater when they finally let us in.

There was cheering at all the right moments. When Neville killed Nagini. When Molly Weasley uttered her famous line, "Not my daughter, you bitch!" When Ron and Hermione kissed. When Voldemort was defeated. There was cheering and clapping for all the great moments.

There were also subdued moments and tears. When Fred died. Seeing Remus and Tonks dead. Snape's death. The Prince's tale. The Resurrection Stone scene. Hogwarts being destroyed. The very end, seeing all the kids on the train, pulling away from the station for the last time. The last time I would ever see the Hogwarts Express pulling away from King's Cross.

I know there's Pottermore to look forward to, but I still can't help but feel as though I've lost someone close to me. There's no more anticipation, no more looking forward to something completely new. People think I'm just being overly dramatic or emotional, and that maybe I should just get over it, but I won't. Harry Potter has always been there for me, and it will always be there for me, until the very end.

Because it's real for us.

Five things to be happy about.

• summer thunderstorms
• thinking you have a ton of work to do but really have nothing
• Mondays that don't suck
• being told that someone really does value you
• feeling absolutely safe and content in the arms of the guy you like

Five things to be happy about.

• lazy Sundays after a hectic Saturday
• chocolate donuts
• talking to a friend you haven't heard from in a while
• finishing your homework before two in the morning
• new boots