Solo

When asked what the hardest part of playing professional volleyball is for the last 2 years I'd always answer that being away from my family topped the list. Many speculated that attempting to have any kind of relationship would have been next to impossible, but I stood by my belief that having something or someone great was worth the frustrations of carrying on a long distance relationship. For two years me and my boyfriend fought to overcome the odds of a relationship that consisted of Skype conversations, a lot of texting and cherished weeks spent in the same area code. Many people questioned me on if we could have real feelings, having spent so little time together, or if it was a real relationship. My answer remains the same, that every moment of my long distance relationship was real. I knew a person so much better for having not been in the same place. You get to know someone from the inside, when all you have are communicated thoughts.

I have spent hours on hours trying to put to words what I want to say. Nothing seems right. Nothing seems to articulate what I'm feeling or give justice to the amazing relationship that simply, had terrible timing. What I will say, is that if asked today what the hardest part of being abroad is? I'd say being alone. For the first time in my adult life, I am truly and painfully solo. For anyone who knows me it's fair to say... I'm chatty. For weeks I have spent hours without a word uttered or texted to anyone. This silence is a new experience for me. 

I have sometimes been accused of being emotionless. While it may appear that way, it is far from the truth. What else is there to do but to search for happiness? I've always heard "fake it til' you make it" and I've taken this to heart. I've thrown myself into life with my new teammates, tested all the coffee shops in town and spent hours searching for ingredients in the grocery store.  All to avoid the deafening silence of my apartment, where there is no "good morning" text waiting on my iPad. It feels as though someone has moved out. There is an absence in my daily life when, in fact, I have always been alone. Looking at myself from an outside perspective I guess it's kind of funny, learning to be alone again, when I haven't really physically lived with anyone for some time. I think what all of this really shows is the validity of long distance love. To feel more alone when nothing concrete in my everyday life has changed is telling of how big a part my relationship played in my everyday life, despite being thousands of miles apart.

Familiar Comforts

Everyone has a list of comforts they keep close to them for times of need. I never realized how important these things were until I was separated by an ocean from everything I knew. I used to take comfort in regular visits from my parents when I played at Kentucky. If not that I could simply turn to close friends I'd known for years for the support I needed. As my original plan of one year abroad turned into multiple years, I have had to find comfort in other things when my people aren't around.

I've developed a list of things I can bring to keep me company and make home feel a little closer. I've learned to take comfort in a familiar mug of my favourite tea, crammed between socks and shirts into my two suitcases containing my whole life. I find happiness on a road trip pulling on the cheerfully coloured socks my dear friend Heather painstakingly dyed and knit for me. On cold, dark winter days, which are plentiful in Poland, I can cuddle up in a hug from my Zia (Italian aunt) by donning the cozy, chunky sweater she made me. While I love and appreciate my band-aid solutions to life alone in a foreign country, nothing will ever compare to having the people I miss with me.

On the most depressing days it's easy to remain in your apartment and binge on Netflix. I've found that this is a recipe for disaster. When all else fails I simply need to peel myself from my bed. Replace the sweats with "normal" clothes and make the 5 minute trek to the nearest coffee shop. The greatest comfort I find overseas is consuming some good Java with a slice of cake and watching the local people. Occasionally I'll hear English and awkwardly start a conversation. Sometimes I can be found walking aimlessly for hours around town weaving between people on the busy streets and slowly coming back to life.

I would never want to complain about being overseas as its a blessing that I am able to pursue my passion while experiencing so many wonderful places. But just like being at home in -30 degree weather, it isn't always rainbows and butterflies. I am grateful for the little bits of happiness that get me through the tough days and I am thankful that there are very few.

The Other Pavan Sister

I spent my whole life up until the age of 22 known not as Rebecca Pavan but "Sarah's sister." As many younger siblings can attest to, this can be rather irritating when entering a new school your older siblings have already conquered. For me this extended past a few teachers who had taught my sister before me. My curse, as a no name sibling, extended into a community of people across a country.  Many of you may know my sister, but for those of you who don't a brief history... Sarah is exceptional in every way. From being academically gifted to beautiful, she is in her own league. Most notably though she has been on of the best volleyball players in the world for most of her life. 

Growing up I was not an athletic specimen. Try as I might, I could not manage to coordinate my skinny, lanky limbs to do what I wanted. Regardless, I was entered into every sport my sister was. Instead of making the rep teams...I remained in house league. Finally when I was 12 I was allowed to start volleyball, my family's favourite past time. Although my family still questioned if it was safe for me to be attempting anything requiring fine motor movements, I loved the sport immediately. I relished in pulling on my turtle shell knee pads, over my knobby knees and warming the bench while cheering on my new friends. After middle school things began changing quickly. I became less "Bambi on ice" and slowly became one of the top Canadian volleyball recruits committing to Kentucky.

Despite my success I never felt as though I was  good enough. All my accomplishments paled in comparison to what my sister was able to do. While I was proud of her, I found it difficult to navigate who I was while I was being told I was someone based on my family. I was often portrayed as jealous, insecure, the "less talented sister" and a Pavan. What really was true? I was struggling to know my identity outside of my connection to my famous sibling. 

Fast forward to 2012 entering my first season abroad. When my teammates began asking about my life and family I was shocked to find they had no flicker of knowing in their eyes when my sister, and the fact the she too played volleyball, entered the conversation. It was like unexpectedly bursting through the surface to suck in fresh air for the first time, when I hadn't even realized I had been drowning. For the first time in my life I was Becky. No strings attached. No expectations. No assumptions. 

The last four years have changed me. I know everyone says this after experiences of living abroad. Just like everyone else who will annoyingly say this, I claim my epiphany is different from all the rest. Everyone who moves abroad is granted a different type of freedom. The freedom to do as one wants, to assume a new identity or simply adopt an new sense of adventure. My experience granted me the freedom to be the me who was always there, hiding in the shadow of a family reputation that trumped all. I can now say more strongly that ever that I am unbelievably proud of my sister and her ever growing list of accomplishments, I love my family and everything they do for the volleyball community and I love myself just for being me. The sport that once caused me so much anxiety is also the thing that set me free.