I grew up playing a variety of sports. There were lessons, expressions, life analogies and more learned on the playing surface that continue to influence my life today. Throughout the course of a playing season, there are ups and downs. Whether the sport be individual or team, there are times when things click and periods when nothing seems to go your way. When an individual was experiencing a rough patch, my friends and I would remind the suffering player that they were simply in a rut. The struggles would not last the duration of the season, and we would remind him that soon he would be flourishing once again, the rut a distant memory.
I always found this philosophy liberating. Ruts are something we all experience in life, whether it’s in our careers, relationships, or other life endeavors. Sometimes, we don’t want to admit we are struggling. We put on a happy face, tell friends and foes that all is well, and refuse to face our challenges. This was the case for me, four years ago, when an act of fate changed my life.
I always found this philosophy liberating. Ruts are something we all experience in life, whether it’s in our careers, relationships, or other life endeavors. Sometimes, we don’t want to admit we are struggling. We put on a happy face, tell friends and foes that all is well, and refuse to face our challenges. This was the case for me, four years ago, when an act of fate changed my life.
It was a beautiful, sun-filled afternoon in Charlottesville, Virginia, and the Virginia Cavaliers were battling the North Carolina Tar Heels in an exciting baseball game. I was in the stands with my father, having joined him and several of his friends on the short drive from Roanoke. I was glad to be away from home, even for one afternoon. For the first time in my life, I was feeling lost, like events were spinning out of control, and I had no way to stop them.
Up to this point, my life had followed a clear path. Cristina and I had moved to Roanoke, purchased a home and started a family. I was teaching at a local middle school and Cristina had just landed a new job in her field. From the outside, things probably looked great. On the inside, of my soul and my home, things were not well. Each morning, I would drive ten minutes to a day care facility that rested across the street from my school. I would drop off Bridgette first. My one-year old daughter was under the care of two kind, caring souls in a room full of screaming babies. From the moment she was born, Bridgette detested loud noises. She, to this day, dreads entering rooms with large crowds where noise abounds. As I placed her car seat down among the other young children, my heart would sink. It would be at least nine hours before I saw her again, and the thought of her in that loud room all day made me feel sick.
After dropping off Bridgette, I would walk down stairs with Addie, who was nearly three. Addie is and has always been what many would call a “daddy’s girl.” She would cling to my leg as we made our way to her classroom where her kind teacher would pull a screaming Addie from my outstretched leg. I could hear her crying as I exited the building and crossed the street to work. My classroom was on the second floor, and from the window I could see the small church where my two girls were staying. It was heartbreaking because I missed my children and was unhappy with my career as a teacher.
I worked in a middle school as a special education teacher where I felt I was largely ineffective. For a variety of reasons, it seemed to me and many others that teaching had become an impossible endeavor. Paperwork, federal guidelines, state mandates, and more left me feeling powerless to provide students with the skills necessary to flourish in life. Despite working 50-60 hours a week, pouring all of my energy into my work, I knew I was failing. I was tired, frustrated, angry and lost. At home, I was miserable to be around. My kids weren’t getting the dad they deserved, and my wife was wondering where the man she had married had gone. I put on a happy face for friends and family, but on the inside I was drowning. Life was spiraling downhill, and I needed to make a change. Cristina insisted I leave the teaching field, and I wanted to desperately. But how? I had a family to support. We could make it temporarily on one salary but not for very long. At night, I lay wide awake, wondering if there were any way out.
So, sitting in the stands along the first base line with my dad, I was relieved to let my mind escape the worries and stresses of the life that existed outside the stadium. For three hours, I could just enjoy the game of baseball. I focused my attention on the field where a batter for Virginia swung at an outside pitch. The result was a towering pop fly that began drifting innocently into foul territory. The ball kept drifting, and the realization hit that it was going to land near my dad and me. We both stood up along with a crowd of fans arounds us. It rose against the clear blue sky and began descending, gaining speed as it fell towards the ground. I reached out as my dad looked on. Then, it happened.
Up to this point, my life had followed a clear path. Cristina and I had moved to Roanoke, purchased a home and started a family. I was teaching at a local middle school and Cristina had just landed a new job in her field. From the outside, things probably looked great. On the inside, of my soul and my home, things were not well. Each morning, I would drive ten minutes to a day care facility that rested across the street from my school. I would drop off Bridgette first. My one-year old daughter was under the care of two kind, caring souls in a room full of screaming babies. From the moment she was born, Bridgette detested loud noises. She, to this day, dreads entering rooms with large crowds where noise abounds. As I placed her car seat down among the other young children, my heart would sink. It would be at least nine hours before I saw her again, and the thought of her in that loud room all day made me feel sick.
After dropping off Bridgette, I would walk down stairs with Addie, who was nearly three. Addie is and has always been what many would call a “daddy’s girl.” She would cling to my leg as we made our way to her classroom where her kind teacher would pull a screaming Addie from my outstretched leg. I could hear her crying as I exited the building and crossed the street to work. My classroom was on the second floor, and from the window I could see the small church where my two girls were staying. It was heartbreaking because I missed my children and was unhappy with my career as a teacher.
I worked in a middle school as a special education teacher where I felt I was largely ineffective. For a variety of reasons, it seemed to me and many others that teaching had become an impossible endeavor. Paperwork, federal guidelines, state mandates, and more left me feeling powerless to provide students with the skills necessary to flourish in life. Despite working 50-60 hours a week, pouring all of my energy into my work, I knew I was failing. I was tired, frustrated, angry and lost. At home, I was miserable to be around. My kids weren’t getting the dad they deserved, and my wife was wondering where the man she had married had gone. I put on a happy face for friends and family, but on the inside I was drowning. Life was spiraling downhill, and I needed to make a change. Cristina insisted I leave the teaching field, and I wanted to desperately. But how? I had a family to support. We could make it temporarily on one salary but not for very long. At night, I lay wide awake, wondering if there were any way out.
So, sitting in the stands along the first base line with my dad, I was relieved to let my mind escape the worries and stresses of the life that existed outside the stadium. For three hours, I could just enjoy the game of baseball. I focused my attention on the field where a batter for Virginia swung at an outside pitch. The result was a towering pop fly that began drifting innocently into foul territory. The ball kept drifting, and the realization hit that it was going to land near my dad and me. We both stood up along with a crowd of fans arounds us. It rose against the clear blue sky and began descending, gaining speed as it fell towards the ground. I reached out as my dad looked on. Then, it happened.