The Awkward Part

Day 1 of the volleyball camp is officially in the books. As I’m writing this it’s actually day 3 in Sri Lanka, the morning of the 2nd day of training, but I digress.

To back up a bit, I want to add some context to the anxiety I mentioned in my previous post.

I wasn’t anxious about meeting people. I was anxious that the people I meet wouldn’t be fun to hang out with. Since at least half the joy I associate with volleyball comes from the people I play with, I worried the trip wouldn’t be worth it if the social side fell flat.

Then I had to remind myself to reset my expectations, because there’s no way the people I meet would be cooler than my current volleyball friends, as I have been pretty spoiled by how good my volleyball community really is.

I arrived at the beachfront hotel the afternoon before the camp started, and maybe it was the jet lag, but I suddenly felt some nerves about approaching the group congregating around the volleyball court. It felt like showing up at a new school and trying to figure out who you might sit with at lunch. Or starting a new job and wondering who your lunch buddy might be.

I walked up to the court once, scanned for friendly faces, and then retreated to the lobby when the timing didn’t feel quite right. My room wasn’t ready yet anyway, I told myself, and I needed a moment to recharge my introvert battery. After getting settled and changing, I headed back down and introduced myself to the couple of people who were around. There was Patrick, a 17-year-old from Estonia who attends a sports-focused school, and Nico, a 24-year-old Austrian who had just spent two months volunteering at a hospital in southern Sri Lanka.

It was interesting being a minority outside my usual habitat, where introducing myself to people feels easier and more familiar. There are about 60 people at the camp representing 28 different countries. It’s mostly a European crowd, with a handful of Asians from places like Hong Kong and Singapore mixed in. What struck me most wasn’t just the diversity of passports, but how many people don’t live in the country they grew up in.

I don’t remember everyone’s name yet, but there’s the French-Italian guy living in Singapore (who actually looks Asian). Sandra, a French diplomat who’s been living in Delhi for the past 15 months. Sam, an American based in Italy. Salma, who’s from Syria and now lives in Dubai. And that’s just scratching the surface.

By the end of the day, my anxiety hadn’t vanished so much as it had quieted. Not because I’d found instant best friends, and not because this group somehow eclipsed the people I already love playing with back home. Instead, it eased once I stopped measuring the experience against what I already had and let it be what it was.

Day 1 didn’t deliver dramatic revelations or lifelong friendships. What it offered was something simpler and more reassuring: proof that even far from home, even among strangers, connection can still take shape one conversation, one meal, and one shared laugh at a time.

For now, that feels like a good enough start.