I still remember the afternoon the tryout list went up. It was a Tuesday, just after the last bell. A crowd had gathered around the big window outside the gym, bodies pressed against the glass. I stood on my toes, trying to catch a glimpse of the typed sheet taped to the inside. My heart hammered against my ribs. I knew my name would be on that list. I had trained every afternoon for weeks, running laps until my legs ached. But as I pushed closer, I felt that familiar twist of fear—the what-if that always arrived just before a big moment.

When I finally got close enough to read, I saw the names in alphabetical order. My eyes skipped down the rows, scanning for “M”—my last name. There it was, halfway down the second column: Mitchell, L. I let out a breath I hadn’t realised I was holding. Relief flooded through me, followed quickly by a jolt of excitement. I had made the squad. I turned to find my friend Anna, who was still searching the list. Her face fell. She hadn’t made it. I didn’t know what to say. The joy I felt suddenly felt heavy, wrapped up in her disappointment.

On the walk home, the list stayed with me. I replayed that moment over and over—the slow scan, the sudden find, the awkward silence with Anna. I wanted to celebrate, but I also felt guilty. At dinner, my parents asked how tryouts went. I told them I made it, but I mentioned Anna too. My mum said, “It’s okay to be happy for yourself, even when others are sad.” That stuck with me. I realised then that success and disappointment often sit side by side. The list on the window wasn’t just about who made it. It was about learning to hold both feelings at once.

When I finally got close enough to read, I saw the names in alphabetical order.

Looking back now, I think that tryout list taught me something important about perspective. In the moment, it felt like the most important thing in the world. But later, I understood that not making a team doesn’t define you. Anna went on to join a local club and improved heaps. I learned that the list wasn’t a final judgment—it was just one step. The real lesson was about showing up, trying your best, and handling whatever comes next. That Tuesday afternoon, standing in front of the window, I was just beginning to understand how much more there is to a tryout than a name on a sheet.

Now, years later, I sometimes walk past that same window. The list is long gone, but the memory lingers. That moment taught me that outcomes aren’t always in our control, but effort is. I still think about Anna’s face, and how we stayed friends through it all. The tryout list on the window wasn’t just about sport. It was about facing disappointment with courage and celebrating others even when things don’t go your way. That’s a lesson I carry into every tryout, every test, every new challenge. And I’m grateful for it.