Hype
Coming-of-age is an opinion column where Ateneans share their thoughts on a specific topic that fits Vantage’s beats. From in-depth analyses of TV series to miscellaneous musings in music (and everything in between), this is a space to spread and inspire thought-provoking ideas.
In this column, Vantage Magazine Staffer Mikylla reflects on revisiting childhood activities, particularly sports, alongside recent shifts in sports culture toward more personal, self-directed returns to growth.
STEPPING AWAY from familiar routines does not always equate to complete withdrawal. It is only a measured distance that teaches you how to return with care and clarity, and to a version that gradually becomes one’s own.
At seven years old, my afternoons began in chlorinated water and the echo of whistles that cut through the setting sun. The pool was not yet a space of doubt at the time, only a place where repetition came first and understanding followed later. Lap after lap, my movement turned into a rhythm which hardened into a routine, until my body learned discipline long before I understood choice.
Stepping away from the sport did not arrive as a rupture—it unfolded gradually. By 11 years old, the act of leaving felt less like a decision and more like a drift, as if the lane lines widened and the water no longer pulled me in the same direction. Within this gap, I grew fonder of more fluid, non-athletic pursuits like journalism. Yet, even as I filled that space, something in me remained unresolved every time I caught sight of a pool.
With distance, I began to observe a common pattern across disciplines: how early fascination with the activity gradually settles into a rut. Sports, music, and creative hobbies often begin as spaces of curiosity, but are hastily shaped by a strict structure built on expectations and eventually comparison.
Admittedly, I retained this rigidity in every subsequent pursuit of mine: discipline became reliable and almost automatic. But over time, a void formed where hours of training and repetition became motion without meaning, prompting a lingering question: what am I truly moving toward if the effort itself no longer knows why it exists?
This persistent question that gnawed at me was not isolated to me alone. When figure skater Alysa Liu returned to the competitive stage at the 2026 Winter Olympics after her retirement in 2022, the response extended well beyond technical performance, focusing instead on the clarity of her presence and artistic capability.
Across the wider sports landscape, similar stories emerged: athletes revisiting disciplines illustrate a shift toward a more self-directed relationship with their craft, where growth is defined less by results and more by intentional engagement.
This phenomenon is notably reflected in the journey of the tennis star, Naomi Osaka, who stepped back from major competition during the 2021 French Open amid broader discussions on mental health and performance pressure. When she eventually returned to the court in 2024, public attention extended beyond rankings and results, focusing instead on the terms of her return itself: one shaped by a deliberate effort to rebuild a healthier relationship with the sport, while balancing her novel ventures, such as focusing on her family
Returning to childhood passions, then, becomes less about restoration and more about reinterpretation. The activity remains essentially the same, but the internal framing alters from measurement to engagement. As Friedrich Nietzsche once wrote, “One must still have chaos in oneself to give birth to a dancing star,” a perpetual reminder that old frameworks need to melt before something more deliberate can slowly solidify in their place.
The question no longer sits at whether something should be done, and instead, deepens into a more essential introspection: who do I become if I choose this for myself? What was once a given is encountered again, this time as a matter that can be reshaped, reconciled, and reclaimed on self-determined terms.
Perhaps that is why, after years, I eventually found myself returning to the water; not to recover a former version of myself, nor to continue where I had left off, but to simply embrace a new perspective. The mechanics of the sport remained the same, yet the meaning I carried into it had changed. In the end, fulfillment did not arrive through performance alone, rather, it manifests through a revelation that some passions return more authentically once they are chosen freely and fully.
