Three hours ago, I was playing the last home volleyball game of my career. It was Senior Night. There were posters with pictures of me plastered all over the walls and multiple selfies of my face taped to popsicle sticks for the crowd to flail around. Before the varsity game, the cross country and volleyball coach recognized all of my accomplishments in high school athletics. I was given flowers and enough candy to suffice until Christmas. As I looked out into the crowd, I reminisced on all of the memories I’ve made.

I thought about the best and the worst times. The best memories were made in the locker rooms and on the bus. There was never a moment we weren’t singing karaoke, playing games or dancing like nobody was watching. The worst memories were 7 a.m. volleyball practices every Sunday morning or workouts called “speed days” after school, when I sprinted miles repeatedly. These will be the experiences I remember the clearest. All the planks, nail-biting volleyball rallies and long-distance runs are embedded in my mind.

These memories are special because I had the time of my life. As I wear my Oak Ridge jersey for the last few times, all kinds of emotions are bubbling to the surface. Since the fourth grade, when I started playing volleyball and running, I’ve tried to master the mechanics. The “whats” and “hows” of sports, what should I do and how should I do it.

But tonight, I asked myself a different question: Why does this matter to me? Volleyball is a game played with a ball full of air, and running is an activity I learned at age four. Why is letting go so difficult now? The founder of the Bible in a Year podcast, Father Mike Shmitz, once wrote that sometimes our “why” is really a “who;” our reason is really a person. When we ask ourselves why are we doing this, we are really asking, who are we doing this for?

Thinking about that sentiment, I thought of all of the people who believed in me for so long and taught me to believe in myself. All of my family, coaches and friends who cheer me on. I’m here for my teammates, because through success and adversity, they didn’t abandon me. They continuously showed me life is fun, and companions are a gift. Most importantly, I’ve come all this way for me. I owe it to myself to give life my best. I’ve shown up and trusted good things will come. I’ve chosen to stay for so long because this is who I am.

In three weeks, when fall sports are over, my life is going to change. I’m going to have to let go of the things I’ve been holding on to for so long. This is so hard because I’m going to miss the people who make playing worthwhile. In this state of confusing transition, I have hope, because these memories are mine. They can’t be stolen. They can’t be tampered with. They won’t change, even when I do.

Erin Urhahn is a senior at Oak Ridge High School. She's just a girl trying to find her niche in the world.