I think it's sad to me that I had to make a decision to not play

The words of Tiffeny Milbrett fall heavy with sorrow and yet shine with truth: “I think it’s sad to me that I had to make a decision to not play the game that I feel like I’m best at and that I love. But if it was just about the game itself, I’d be there in a heartbeat. But that’s not how the real world works.” In this confession, the great striker of American soccer reveals a timeless conflict—the gulf between the purity of passion and the harshness of circumstance. She loved the game, the art of play, the field where her heart could run free. Yet the world, bound by politics, economics, and structures of power, demanded a choice: to step away from what she loved most.

The origin of these words lies in Milbrett’s career, when her love for soccer clashed with disputes over treatment, recognition, and fairness in the sport. Her lament echoes the grief of those who dedicate their lives to a craft, only to find that the stage on which they shine is controlled by forces beyond their spirit. For her, the sadness was not in her ability or her desire, but in the reality that love alone cannot always sustain a dream. The purity of her heartbeat for the game was tested by the impurity of the world’s systems.

The ancients knew this pain as well. Consider the story of Achilles, who loved battle as the arena where his greatness was revealed. Yet even he withdrew from the fight, not because he lost his skill, but because his honor was denied. His passion remained, but his circumstances forced his absence. Milbrett’s words are of the same essence: sometimes it is not lack of ability or love, but the injustice of structures that drives a hero from the arena.

History, too, offers the story of Jim Thorpe, one of the greatest athletes the world has ever seen. He loved sport in its purest form, excelling in football, baseball, and the Olympics. Yet his medals were stripped away because of arbitrary rules about amateurism. Like Milbrett, he might have said, “If it were just about the game, I’d be there in a heartbeat.” But the world weighed him down with laws, politics, and prejudice, forcing him to pay a price far beyond the field.

Milbrett’s words remind us that life is rarely as simple as passion alone. The real world intrudes. Even the strongest devotion may meet barriers—financial, political, or social—that love alone cannot overcome. This is the tragedy of her lament: that the world so often builds walls around the very things that make the human spirit soar. Yet in naming this truth, she gives voice to all who have felt the sting of stepping away from what they loved most, not from choice of the heart, but from necessity of the world.

The lesson is profound: cherish your passions, but recognize the structures that shape them. Fight where you can to change those structures, and do not let the world’s injustice diminish your love. Even if you must step away, let your heart remain alive, for the purity of your love is not destroyed by absence. It is not weakness to acknowledge reality; it is strength to endure it with clarity and dignity.

Practical action lies before us: support those whose passions are hindered by injustice. Whether in sport, art, or work, advocate for fairness, equity, and recognition. And in your own life, hold onto what you love, even if the world denies you its daily practice. Find ways to honor it—in memory, in mentorship, in the encouragement of others who walk the same path. For though the world may take you from the field, it cannot take the love from your heart.

So let us hear the echo of Tiffeny Milbrett’s wisdom: it is sad when love must yield to reality, when the game of the heart is denied by the rules of the world. But let us also remember: sadness does not erase greatness. The true champion is not only the one who plays, but the one who carries the flame of passion, even when the world blows cold against it. And that flame, if guarded, may yet light the way for others.