The Year I Packed My Bags for Vanuatu
In 2015, I found myself halfway around the world in a place where the sea did most of the talking. I went to Vanuatu as a volunteer coach, assigned to the women’s beach volleyball team aiming for Rio’s Olympic dream. It wasn’t glamorous—early mornings, makeshift training spaces, and the kind of heat that makes your shirt feel permanently glued to your back. Yet there was a pulse to the island that reminded me why I’d volunteered in the first place: a belief that small, consistent efforts could change lives.
My role wasn’t just about tactics or drills. It was about listening to players who spoke in powerful silences and learning how to translate ambition into action. The team’s energy was contagious, a blend of pride, nerves, and stubborn resilience. We worked within limited resources, improvising without losing sight of our goal: earning a spot in the Olympics qualifiers. The days were long, but each practice carried a quiet rhythm—the sea, the wind, and the hum of anticipation in the volleyball court on the sand.
When the Moment Shifts: A Kiss at the Shore
One evening after a grueling session, the team gathered near the shoreline for a cool-down. The sky wore the soft hues of sunset, and the water curled in a way that suggested we all needed a breather. It was then that she, a teammate with a fearless voice and a warm laugh, stepped closer. Our conversation had nudged from drills to life; we traded stories of home, family, and the weird comfort of being far from it all. And in that moment, she leaned in—not for a coaching cue, not for a celebration, but for a kiss that quietly shifted the map of my world.
It wasn’t a dramatic, cinematic kiss. It was a place where fear meets possibility, a moment of raw honesty in a city and country that had become a second home. I realized, without fireworks or grand declarations, that I was ready to move toward something real—whether that was a relationship, a deeper commitment to the people I’d come to help, or simply to take a different risk in life. The kiss didn’t erase the work we had ahead; it reframed it. The mission to qualify for Rio remained, but so did the awareness that the most meaningful journeys aren’t measured by medals alone.
Balancing Duty and Desire on a Remote Island
Coaching in Vanuatu demanded a different kind of leadership. I learned to lead with patience, to celebrate incremental progress, and to soften my expectations when travel fatigue and cultural differences collided with the perfect training plan. The players taught me resilience: how to reset after a tough loss, how to shoulder a bad day together, and how to laugh at the little mishaps that came with living in a place where the internet was a luxury and the horizon was always wide open.
My time there wasn’t about romance alone. It was about the courage to be vulnerable in a setting where you often felt out of your depth. It was about stepping up to support ambitious athletes—while also allowing myself to be seen in a moment of personal truth. The kiss became a quiet symbol of that reckoning: a decision to stay curious, to stay present, and to stay true to the path I wanted to pursue both professionally and emotionally.
The Aftermath: Reflection and Resolve
The journey to Rio continued with new layers of meaning. We trained relentlessly, navigated logistical hurdles, and kept faith in the process that had brought us together in a place far from home. Looking back, the moment I knew I was ready to paddle back to shore wasn’t about abandoning the goal. It was about recognizing that the heart’s compass often points you toward your next, more authentic step. The island’s beauty and the people I met there left an imprint that still guides my work and my choices today.
In coaching and in life, readiness isn’t a single moment; it’s a stance you take—one that blends professional responsibility, personal growth, and the willingness to explore what lies beyond the next wave.
