The voice inside ...
Cassidy Lichtman graduated from Parker in 2007 as the most decorated volleyball player in school history. She talks about volleyball in her post, but she really gets at something bigger and more applicable to everyone: listening to the voice in your head.
Cass’s piece reminds me of a poem I love, Mary Oliver’s “The Journey” (here’s a link if you’re interested). Oliver writes about the process by which we quiet other voices as we begin to embrace our own identities. “But little by little,” Oliver writes
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own.
Cassidy writes about recognizing and then trusting this voice in your head. For Cass, it is a voice that has certainly not led her astray. After graduating from high school, she went on to Stanford where she graduated in 2011 with a BA in Political Science and an MA in History. In terms of volleyball, Cass has achieved just about everything there is to achieve: All American, Academic All American, five years with the National Team. She even went back to Stanford and helped coach a National Championship team. More recently, she has spent the last year and a half working for a company founded by former US Chief Technology Officer Megan Smith, where she supports projects focused on equality, inclusion and economic opportunity.
Cass’s piece is mainly about listening. To others, yes -- but also to yourself. “It was hard for me to figure out something to write about because high school wasn’t that hard for me,” she said. “I finally found a way to say why it wasn’t— because I understood that the noise around me didn’t really matter. All I can do is do the best that I can and I’m the only one who can know if I’m doing that.”
- C.H.
I didn’t talk much when I was young. In part because I was naturally quiet and shy but also in part, I’m convinced, because I was learning to listen. So by the time I made it to high school I had learned some of the key tricks to listening—that you don’t always listen with your ears, that listening to what people think is less significant than listening for what they feel, that you have to learn what not to listen to, that the most important thing is learning how to listen to yourself.
I walked through the halls of the middle school and high school hearing what other kids thought about what’s cool and what’s not, what should be easy and what should be hard, where we should be going and what we should want to do. I listened to the anxiety under their words. Then I listened to the voice inside me that said that all I can do is be who I am. They may think it’s good enough or not but it’s all I have to give and it’s enough for me.
If you asked anyone who I was in high school they would have told you I was the volleyball player. Sure, I got good grades and I played guitar but volleyball was my thing. I heard most people around me tell me that I was going to be great. I listened to the voice inside me that said I was a big fish in a small pond and I still had a lot to learn. I kept my head down and kept working. I heard the other people around me who said I wouldn’t make it once I was outside of the small pond. I listened to the voice inside me that said I had more within me than they realized.
I graduated and went to Stanford. In my first visit with an academic advisor she looked at me and said she had advised athletes like me before and handed me a paper with the tutoring schedule on it. Her words didn’t cut me like they might have. I listened to her tone and her body language and understood that she was trying to be actually helpful. I listened to the voice inside me that said she didn’t know me. I threw the piece of paper away and graduated from Stanford four years later with both my bachelor’s and master’s degrees.
At the same time I was playing volleyball for one of the best programs in the country and I was out of the small pond. I heard the same voices questioning how good I’d be. Then I listened to the voice inside me that said there was only one way to find out. Nobody knows how good I can be or how far I can go. Not even me. The only way to know is to push myself to do my best. I went into the gym with that goal every day and I played in two National Championship matches and was a two-time All-American.
I graduated and walked into the National Team gym. There were a lot of people on the outside who probably didn’t know why I was there. Sometimes it confused me too, but deep down I knew why. Because I knew how to listen and how not to. I knew how to not listen to the buzz of the cameras or the noise of the crowd and how to listen to the voice inside that told me I’ve got this. I knew how to not listen to the thoughts that tell you this moment is big and you can’t mess up and how to listen to the child inside me that just loved being on the court and playing the game. I knew how to listen to how my teammates felt on the court so I could help them to be their best.
After playing five years for the National Team I listened to the voice inside that told me it was time to move on. I went back to Stanford to coach and in my one season there we won the National Championship. I heard all the people who said I could coach for the rest of my life. It was certainly the path of least resistance; I could have my pick of jobs. But instead I listened to the voice inside me that said I had other things to do. I didn’t know what they were yet but I knew I would find them. And I did. All I had to do was listen.
I didn’t talk much when I was young. In part because I was naturally quiet and shy but also in part, I’m convinced, because I was learning to listen. So by the time I made it to high school I had learned some of the key tricks to listening—that you don’t always listen with your ears, that listening to what people think is less significant than listening for what they feel, that you have to learn what not to listen to, that the most important thing is learning how to listen to yourself.
I walked through the halls of the middle school and high school hearing what other kids thought about what’s cool and what’s not, what should be easy and what should be hard, where we should be going and what we should want to do. I listened to the anxiety under their words. Then I listened to the voice inside me that said that all I can do is be who I am. They may think it’s good enough or not but it’s all I have to give and it’s enough for me.
If you asked anyone who I was in high school they would have told you I was the volleyball player. Sure, I got good grades and I played guitar but volleyball was my thing. I heard most people around me tell me that I was going to be great. I listened to the voice inside me that said I was a big fish in a small pond and I still had a lot to learn. I kept my head down and kept working. I heard the other people around me who said I wouldn’t make it once I was outside of the small pond. I listened to the voice inside me that said I had more within me than they realized.
I graduated and went to Stanford. In my first visit with an academic advisor she looked at me and said she had advised athletes like me before and handed me a paper with the tutoring schedule on it. Her words didn’t cut me like they might have. I listened to her tone and her body language and understood that she was trying to be actually helpful. I listened to the voice inside me that said she didn’t know me. I threw the piece of paper away and graduated from Stanford four years later with both my bachelor’s and master’s degrees.
At the same time I was playing volleyball for one of the best programs in the country and I was out of the small pond. I heard the same voices questioning how good I’d be. Then I listened to the voice inside me that said there was only one way to find out. Nobody knows how good I can be or how far I can go. Not even me. The only way to know is to push myself to do my best. I went into the gym with that goal every day and I played in two National Championship matches and was a two-time All-American.
I graduated and walked into the National Team gym. There were a lot of people on the outside who probably didn’t know why I was there. Sometimes it confused me too, but deep down I knew why. Because I knew how to listen and how not to. I knew how to not listen to the buzz of the cameras or the noise of the crowd and how to listen to the voice inside that told me I’ve got this. I knew how to not listen to the thoughts that tell you this moment is big and you can’t mess up and how to listen to the child inside me that just loved being on the court and playing the game. I knew how to listen to how my teammates felt on the court so I could help them to be their best.
After playing five years for the National Team I listened to the voice inside that told me it was time to move on. I went back to Stanford to coach and in my one season there we won the National Championship. I heard all the people who said I could coach for the rest of my life. It was certainly the path of least resistance; I could have my pick of jobs. But instead I listened to the voice inside me that said I had other things to do. I didn’t know what they were yet but I knew I would find them. And I did. All I had to do was listen.
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