The Path I Never Planned
Jessi Curry
When I was growing up in Farmington, New Mexico, soccer wasn’t even on the radar.
I was busy swimming laps and shooting hoops, never chasing a ball across a grassy field.
Also, soccer was the sport my sisters tried and couldn’t stand. I had no reason to consider it.
But one day, my parents suggested I give it a shot.
A local rec league.
No pressure.
Just a bunch of kids running wild without a care in the world.
So I laced up a borrowed pair of cleats and jogged onto a soccer field, not knowing that this simple moment would spark a journey that would carry me to SMU.
Finding My Own Way
Growing up in a small town had its charms, but it also had its limitations.
We didn’t have club teams or high-level coaching.
So, when I wanted to learn how to be a goalkeeper, the high school varsity boys’ goalkeeper taught me. I picked up how to dive correctly and other essential skills from him.
That was the extent of my “goalkeeper training.”
Still, I loved the game. I loved the challenge. I wanted to keep playing.
By the time I reached my junior year of high school, though, I knew I was behind the curve.
The Division I recruiting window was almost closed. Most athletes had already committed or were deep in conversations with coaches.
But I wasn’t ready to give up.
So I shifted gears. I researched the top junior college soccer programs in the country and sent emails to all of them—twenty in total.
I poured my heart into each message, hoping someone would see the potential in a small-town kid with big dreams.
To my surprise, the top five programs responded.
I visited three, but one stood out—Tyler Junior College in Texas, the number one-ranked JUCO in the nation at the time.
It felt like home.
Turning a Corner
Tyler wasn’t just a stepping stone—it was a turning point.
I found a family there: teammates who became sisters and coaches who believed in me. We made it to nationals and shared moments I’ll never forget.
And then in early 2024, something unexpected happened.
Our first competitions of spring season were part of a round-robin event hosted at SMU. In addition to us, Texas A&M-Commerce and our rival, Navarro College, also participated.
Before their exhibition against Navarro, SMU’s coach, Matt, called my coach at Tyler.
They had no keepers for the upcoming game.
Could they borrow one of ours?
While this wouldn’t be permissible during the regular season, spring rules are more lenient, allowing me to suit up for SMU and play with them for that one game.
Honestly, I didn’t think too much of it at the time. It was a chance to compete, and I was grateful.
But that one opportunity changed everything.
After the game, SMU’s coaches pulled me aside. They were interested. They wanted me to join the team.
A DI offer.
A shot I didn’t think was possible just months before.
I explored a few other options, including ones closer to home, but something about SMU felt right.
It was another leap of faith—and I took it.
But that one opportunity changed everything. After the game, SMU’s coaches pulled me aside. They were interested. They wanted me to join the team. A DI offer. A shot I didn’t think was possible just months before. I explored a few other options, including ones closer to home, but something about SMU felt right. It was another leap of faith—and I took it.
More Than a Game
As a Native American athlete, every time I step on the field, I carry more than just my name—I carry my people.
We’re underrepresented in college sports. We face unique challenges that many don’t see. And yet, we show up. We rise.
This summer, I’m attending the NCAA Native American Summit, an event I’m incredibly honored to have been invited to.
It’s a space to connect with other Native athletes, share stories, lift each other up, and speak about the strength, resilience, and pride that run deep in our communities.
I hope that by sharing my journey, I can spark something in the next generation.
I want young Native athletes to see that they belong.
That their dreams matter.
That they are not alone.
Yéego—With All Your Might
There’s a word in my culture: Yéego.
It means to try with all your might—to give everything you have, even when it’s hard.
That word carried me from a rec league in Farmington to the national stage.
It pushed me to email those coaches when everyone else said it was too late.
It helped me stand tall on the field at Tyler.
And it gave me the courage to say yes to SMU.
Yéego is more than a word. It’s a way of life.
And it’s the message I carry with me now for every Native American athlete wondering if they have what it takes.
You do.
Your ancestors endured unthinkable hardships so you could have opportunities they never did.
Carry their strength. Honor their fight. And play with everything you’ve got.
Writing the Story
Now, as I prepare to attend the Native American Summit in June, I’m filled with pride.
Not just for what I’ve accomplished, but for who I represent.
SMU.
My tribe.
My family.
My younger self who took a chance on soccer when no one expected it.
The story is still being written, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s this: You don’t have to start with the perfect path. You just have to start.
So lace up your cleats.
Take the first step.
And don’t stop until you’ve made your people proud.
Bii’ghah! All things are possible!