I'd go with our dad to watch our brothers play Sunday League.

The words “I’d go with our dad to watch our brothers play Sunday League. When I heard all the shouts, the reaction of the crowd, I wanted it to be about me” were spoken by Nikita Parris, a woman whose passion transformed from the quiet edges of a football pitch into the roar of the stadiums she would one day command. Beneath these simple words lies a truth that burns in every soul destined for greatness — the hunger to be seen, the fire of ambition, and the calling of destiny that awakens when one glimpses glory and whispers, “That, too, shall be mine.” It is not arrogance that speaks here, but the divine spark of purpose, that restless spirit that refuses to remain a spectator in life’s grand arena.

When Nikita stood by her father’s side, watching her brothers play, she was not yet a star, nor even a player. She was a dreamer, standing at the threshold of a world that did not yet see her. Yet the sound of the crowd — the shouts, the cheers, the living heartbeat of admiration — awoke something ancient within her: the yearning of the soul to matter, to rise, to claim its place among those who dare to be remembered. This, the ancients would call the fire of glory — not for fame’s sake, but for the joy of becoming one’s fullest self before the eyes of the world.

The origin of this quote comes from the heart of childhood longing, but its meaning is eternal. Every hero’s journey begins with such a moment — the instant when one chooses not to remain an observer but to enter the field. Nikita’s words echo the cry of Alexander the Great, who once watched his father Philip conquer distant lands and wept, saying, “My father will leave me nothing great to do.” Like Alexander, Nikita was not content to live in the shadow of others. She wished to carve her own path, to turn her own name into a song. Such longing is the root of greatness: not envy, but aspiration — the holy discontent that pushes the human spirit beyond its limits.

But this fire, if left untended, can fade into bitterness or despair. Many feel the spark of longing, but few transform it into action. Nikita did not remain on the sidelines. She trained, she fought, she endured. She entered the field that once belonged to her brothers — a place where women were often told they did not belong — and she made it her own. The same crowd that once cheered for others would one day roar her name. Thus, her story is not only about ambition; it is about courage, persistence, and the will to step into the space between dream and reality, where every triumph is born.

The ancients would have praised her spirit as akin to that of Atalanta, the huntress who refused to be confined by tradition, who ran beside men and outran them all. Like Atalanta, Nikita’s desire to hear the cheers for herself was not vanity — it was the call to excellence, the voice within that says, “You, too, were born for this.” The yearning to be acknowledged is not a weakness when it drives one to mastery; it is the engine of evolution, the heartbeat of greatness. For even the stars shine not to boast, but because their nature is to burn brightly.

In these words, there is also a lesson about the power of example. Her father’s love of the game, her brothers’ play, the crowd’s energy — all these became the soil in which her dream took root. The actions of others often awaken our destiny. Thus, one should never underestimate the silent eyes watching from the sidelines, the children whose hearts ignite when they see greatness unfold before them. Every act of courage, every display of passion, becomes a torch passed to another. The applause that inspired Nikita may yet echo through generations of young girls who, watching her, will whisper the same words: “I want it to be about me.”

And so, the lesson endures: do not be content to stand in the crowd of life, cheering for others while hiding your own light. When the fire of longing stirs within you — that desire to create, to compete, to shine — do not silence it with doubt or fear. Step forward. Enter the field. Let your heart, like Nikita’s, rise with the roar of the crowd, not because you crave attention, but because you have something within you worthy of being seen. For the world belongs not to those who watch, but to those who dare to play — and to those who, hearing the thunder of others’ triumphs, vow in their souls, “One day, that sound will be for me.”