We’ve talked a lot about how important it is for our children to have real joy in their sport. That results come and go, but joy is the main factor driving those results. Many parents I’ve talked to nod their heads in understanding, but frankly it’s hard to really explain and even harder to show a real-world example.

Until now. Until these Olympics, when the meaning of what joy creates was on full display for the whole world to see.

Meet Alysa Liu, US figure skater who just won the individual Olympic gold medal—the first one for a US female figure skater since 2002.

The Burnout and Return

In April 2022, she quit the sport. She was 16 years old and felt overwhelmed by everything—the toll it took on her life, the pressure of expectations, the inability to enjoy regular things like hanging out with siblings or friends.

Sixteen is an age when many teenage athletes, fencers in particular, struggle with balancing their personal and social lives, their obligations at school and home, and their different pursuits. Many also struggle with their identities. This is a fragile time in the life of a youth athlete.

Alysa walked away from figure skating completely.

She returned to the sport after two years of doing absolutely nothing with skating, but everything with living. She climbed to Everest Base Camp. She was admitted to UCLA to study psychology. She had the time of her life with friends and family.

When she decided to get back on the ice, she did it on her own terms. Not because she wanted to pursue any specific goal or medal, but because she loved the sport, loved the feeling of presenting her art to people and giving her best.

And boy, did that show!

What I Saw

I’m not a figure skating expert by any means. I can appreciate many elements, but I can’t analyze technical aspects beyond the obvious. But in our family, this is the most enjoyable winter sport, and we don’t miss any piece of this competition at the Olympics. If we can’t watch it live, we watch it later that day.

What I can say, however, is that there was no one in the entire competition—not in men’s or women’s, singles or pairs—who enjoyed being there more than she did.

I saw a lot of stress. A lot of anxiety. A lot of nerves and expectations. And it showed in performances across the board. The unquestionable favorites crashed under the weight of expectations, underperformed their routines, finished disappointed and unsatisfied.

While I can’t reliably assess how good her performance was from a technical standpoint compared to others, for me Alysa’s was the only performance that felt like she was dancing to the music and having a good time.

She flew in the air.

Figure skating grades artistry as part of the score, and everyone must smile despite mistakes and setbacks in their routines. But we can distinguish between a genuine smile and the required mask they learn to wear.

Alysa’s was genuine.

I watched her jumps closely—she soared in the air and she was smiling from joy. After her short program, she exclaimed that she enjoyed it so much she was sad it finished. And it was the same for her free skate program—she just enjoyed it to the point where it showed throughout her entire routine.

You can’t fake genuine joy.

What Changed During Those Two Years

The transformation wasn’t magic. It was intentional.

During her time away, Alysa rediscovered WHY she loved skating. Not for medals or rankings or meeting others’ expectations, but for the feeling and artistry, for the challenge of pushing herself to see what she was capable of.

She experienced life outside the sport in these two years she quit and developed an identity beyond “figure skater.” She learned that her worth wasn’t tied to her performance on the ice.

When she returned, it was on her own terms. She set goals that excited her, not goals that scared her or that others expected of her. She trained seriously to become one of the world’s best again—this wasn’t casual skating. But her relationship with the sport had fundamentally changed.

She wasn’t skating to prove anything. She was skating because she wanted to. That internal shift—from external pressure to internal joy—changed everything.

This genuine happiness of just being able to practice her beloved sport, to showcase her talent to the world, to push her limits for herself because it was what she wanted—all this made her a role model.

Her effervescent quality while skating won over the judges and the crowds.

And it won her an individual Olympic gold medal and the title of Olympic Champion—the highest possible achievement for any athlete.

Joy on the World’s Biggest Stage

Here we are—on the biggest stage in the world, when literally the whole world is watching and will talk for days and weeks and months—here we are seeing what it means to just enjoy your sport and not be burdened with goals and the weight of expectations and responsibilities. To be genuinely—and she meant it, genuinely—happy with the outcome if you gave it your best.

When I found it hard to explain to parents that the most important thing for their child is to find joy in their sport, when it was really hard to show a real-world, elite-level athlete example of what it means, Alysa gave us the perfect lesson.

But Won’t They Lose Their Edge?

Some parents worry that focusing on joy means lowering standards or accepting mediocrity.

Alysa proves the opposite.

She didn’t come back to skate casually—she trained seriously, pushed her limits, competed at the highest level. The difference wasn’t in her work ethic or commitment. It was in her relationship with the sport.

Joy didn’t make her soft. It made her unstoppable.

When you love what you’re doing, when you’re not performing out of obligation or fear but out of genuine passion, you show up differently. You train harder because you want to, not because you have to. You push through challenges because you’re driven by internal motivation, not external pressure.

The discipline we’ve talked about—showing up weekly, maintaining consistency, doing the work—all of that matters. But it works best when it’s fueled by joy rather than obligation.

Alysa showed the world that you don’t have to choose between excellence and enjoyment. In fact, enjoyment might be the secret to sustained excellence.

What This Means for You

If you’re an athlete reading this, think about what Alysa just proved.

You can reach the same relationship with your sport that she did—a joy of doing it because you love it. Try to find your reason to compete. If you enjoy it, if you’re spending time in the gym or in competition because that’s what you love, because you can, because you want to push yourself to see what you’re capable of, I can guarantee you that you will reach the maximum of what your talent can achieve.

Not despite the joy. Because of it.

If you’re a parent reading this, remember that the more your child loves the sport, the less they think of responsibilities and obligations, the better they will become.

Stop talking about results. Instead ask about what they enjoyed, what felt good, what they’re excited to work on next. 

Let them own their goals without imposing your timeline or expectations. Let them choose what they want to achieve and why it matters to them.

I believe as a parent the most important thing is to protect their joy. When training feels like drudgery, when competition feels like pressure, when the sport feels like obligation—that’s when you need to step back and ask if something needs to change, with them or with you. Remember why they started. Most kids start sports because it’s fun. Keep that at the center. Results will follow joy. Joy rarely follows results.

If you can create an environment where your child genuinely loves their sport, where they show up because they want to and not because they have to, where they compete for the joy of testing themselves rather than the fear of disappointing you—you’ve won the sports parent lottery.

Alysa Liu just proved it on the biggest stage in the world.

Joy wins.

Image: Jaybeeinbigd22 under Creative Commons CC0 1.0 Universal Public Domain Dedication