I have autism and a major part of autism, or neurodivergent people in general, are special interests, which can be defined as “an intense, focused and often consuming passion for a specific topic, object or activity, going far beyond typical hobbies, becoming a core part of a person’s life”. Naturally, through the years, they’ve changed, from Goth subculture to Gorillaz and even to Electric Wizard. My special interests usually revolve around music. This is different, though.

I haven’t had a hyperfixation like this one in years. My parents are calling me “Rain Man.” I can name off stats, facts and players like nobody’s business. I’m obsessed with hockey.

It started during the 2025 season playoffs when the Dallas Stars were about to play the Winnipeg Jets. During my advisory class, my teacher played clips of the Jets, which immediately caught my attention, especially when I saw a crazy slapshot. 

Though my special interest began with the Jets, I quickly realized that, as a Dallas resident, I needed to support the Stars. My cousins, diehard Stars fans, helped me figure out what players did to hate the Vegas Golden Knights and Edmonton Oilers and even let me find my favorite player, Lian Bichsel.

Then the season ended. Those few months felt so incredibly boring. 

As I waited for the season to begin, a new idea formed. Could I play hockey?

At first, it was just a thought. I would turn 17 in October and I do not have time to learn how to play before I graduate. I kept this thought in the back of my mind for months. A cool fantasy, maybe. During this time, my love for hockey only grew and grew. 

I found my pride and joy team, the Pittsburgh Penguins, in November 2025 and decorated my walls with posters of Evgeni Malkin, Sidney Crosby and Marc-Andre Fleury. I got on Hockey TikTok, devoting my time to making edits of my favorite players, started collecting hockey cards and would lose my voice at the occasional Stars game. I wouldn’t shut up about hockey. My parents kept telling me to knock it off and think of something else, but I couldn’t. Every time I saw hockey on TV in a public space, I’d start stimming with joy, kicking, giggling and swaying with excitement. 

December rolled around. Naturally, I  crafted what I wanted 2026 to look like for me. I wanted to do some form of athletics. I already go to the gym seven days a week, but I wanted something more. Then it dawned on me.

“I’m going to play hockey. I’m going to be a goalie.”

Although he wasn’t my favorite, seeing Marc-Andre Fleury, considered one of, if not the greatest, goalies of all time, I envied him. I want that. 

I learned about the PWHL, the Professional Women’s Hockey League, and dreamed about one day being a member. Then, finally, Dec. 28, I went to the PWHL takeover tour at American Airlines Center, realizing as a girl, I could join. I cried real tears, knowing I would make sure I do whatever it takes. 

One issue. I don’t know how to skate.

I begged my mom to let me sign up for skate lessons at StarCenter. She said yes, if I stuck with it.

So on Jan. 8, I began skate lessons. My skates were way too big, so I could barely do anything. I went back for a public skate on Saturday, and boy, I skated until the skin rubbed off my ankles. 

I’m late to the party, I know. Most players I know have been doing this since they were 7 or 8. I’m 17. But I have a plan. I have the drive. I want to do this. I can skate a bit now, but in a month, I’m sure I can do more. I signed up for the Rookie Academy in February, where I’d learn to play and get gear. Gear! I get to finally wear what a real hockey player would.

I worry that if I’m too late, I’ll never make anything out myself. But when I’m on the ice, it all goes away. I think about not falling, but more importantly, that I’ll make myself into something. Someone.