The phrase “student-athlete” has been a constant part of my identity for as long as I can remember. However, there were periods of my life where my focus on sports was overshadowed by swirls of fleeting dreams. 

Growing up, I was fascinated with exploring new hobbies. I entered each one with full force, whether I was dreaming of being on “MasterChef Junior,” acting in school plays or starting a jewelry business. That being said, my surges of enthusiasm were often short-lived. What began as sure plans to become a professional in whatever I was pursuing often resulted solely in gently used kitchen appliances or a surplus of glass beads and pliers. 

Tennis was the one hobby that remained persistent throughout my childhood. As my tennis career progressed, I had to make the choice to leave most of my many pastimes behind. My tight practice and school schedule left me with little to no free time — a situation that I have dealt with throughout my life, especially during my years as a student-athlete at USC. 

As my college career has progressed, I have found myself drifting farther away from the interdisciplinary interests I once loved as a child. My focus outside of school has remained on tennis for most of the last four years.  

Until this semester. Knowing my days as a college athlete would conclude this May, I found myself bombarded with thoughts about life after tennis. When you dedicate yourself so relentlessly to a craft for so many years — whether a sport, career or hobby — it can feel like a threat to your identity when you know your time with it is dwindling. 

My saving grace has honestly been something quite out of the ordinary, but it has been a rock for me during these times of uncertainty and insecurity. I noticed there was room for one two-unit elective in my schedule this spring. This unusual gap in my schedule felt similar to the impending gap of tennis in my life — a void waiting to be filled. Because it is my last semester at USC, I wanted to take a class to help me reconnect with my former self. I was looking for something completely different from what I’ve become used to. 

The class that caught my eye was titled “Improvisation and Theatre Games.” It seemed like the perfect end to my college academic career: the opportunity to reunite with a passion I loved during my childhood. I immediately registered for the course. 

What I failed to take into account as I showed up for the first day of class was the extreme lack of self-awareness I had in middle school acting class. I don’t recall having stage fright when I was 12, but I was a nervous wreck this time before the improv exercises even began. I had forgotten self-consciousness often develops as we mature. As I listened to the assignments for the following weeks, feelings of fear, self-doubt and anxiety crept into my mind. I wasn’t sure if I would be confident enough to act in front of all my peers. 

Our professor then asked us to introduce ourselves, prompting us to share information about our areas of study and dream career paths. I was one of the last to go. I sat and listened intently to each of my classmates share their ultra-specific, refined career goals, and it became clear to me that many of my peers had spent the last four years of college figuring out exactly what they wanted to do with the rest of their lives. 

When it was my turn, I found myself rehashing my reasoning for taking this class, reluctantly explaining how I thought I used to be a creative person, but athletics had sort of robbed me of that identity. 

The nerves I have felt in this class so far have been comparable to jitters I experience in big tennis matches. Each week, I am aware that I might embarrass myself in front of all my classmates, but I’ve learned to embrace that possibility as a part of learning. 

For years, I’ve categorized myself as a student-athlete. Whether you are a student in the band, a hardcore academic or a member of Greek life, it’s incredibly easy to put yourself in one or two boxes solely as a result of others’ perceptions of you.

Being surrounded by people each week who are brave enough to dive into something creative and vulnerable has completely translated to my tennis game, further showing the value of immersing yourself in new experiences. 

In tennis, there is something called a deuce point when the game score gets to 40-40. This is a point unique to college, and it often causes players to play some of their best tennis because of the high stakes and pressure. These points are sort of like a crossroads, where the entire match often hinges on one moment, as the winner of the deuce point gets the game. 

In both tennis and my improv class, there’s a moment where you have to put yourself out there with no hesitation. This parallel has taught me the tremendous value of delving into more than just my sport, as it has taken me out of my comfort zone in such a rewarding way.

The idea of leaving tennis behind is daunting, but this class has taught me that yes, I am an athlete — and I’m proud of that — but it is important to develop identities outside of that box. If you don’t limit yourself to a single identity, you can feel like a more complete individual and also be more empathetic to those around you from different circumstances.

So yes. That little hyphen within “student-athlete” may be an indication of proper grammar to most, but as I close this chapter of my life in the coming months, I see it transforming into more of a comma: an ever-growing list of what makes me, me.

Sloane Morra is a senior giving her opinions and perspectives on current issues in women’s sports through her column “Second Serve,” which runs every other Friday.