Offer me no pity, because I am not asking for it.

If I can take anything at all from this experience…

it is that I am now able to understand and identify with anxiety, panic attacks, and helplessness.

You see, I’ve always been quite proud of what I thought was being steadfast in the face of life—the ability to be the immovable object or the unstoppable force as the situation dictates.

The COVID-19 outbreak, more or less, has brought part of my ego to heel.

Where I’d previously believed that an unshakeable will can get you through all of life’s curveballs and challenges…

I now see that, when truly confronted with mortality, dread, and the unknown, your sense of self is tested.

I’ve always been excited for the unknown; to this point in my life, it’s meant opportunity and the chance to grow. This time, while the chance to grow remains, it is packaged with a direct challenge to all I’ve accomplished, all I’m capable of, and everything I’ve yet to do—that’s scary stuff.

I thought, mere weeks ago, that reporting on Kobe Bryant’s death was the hardest thing I’d ever done—yet I’ve now seen friends laid off, watched the world grind to a halt, and sense the shroud of fear that blankets the planet, knowing that the uncertainty of what bears down upon us is the true power of this viral outbreak. It’s unsettling, to say the absolute least.

Last weekend at work, while drinking some coffee (pour-over—I’m still bougie) at work, considering how the world of sports (my domain as far as my career as concerned), shut down and reeling with the rest of the world, and how I’d help to fill the void… I felt my throat lock. Unable to breathe. Trapped. I’m at my desk, feeling the walls of an open floor plan closing in. Standing up to approach a window, lungs not inflating, I’m awash in terror, unsure what to make of my body’s state. A manager suggested that allergy season is also upon us as a quasi-differential diagnosis concerning what I’d briefly thought were viral symptoms. I shrugged it off, blaming coffee creamer, thinking it had gone bad (5 days later, as I write this, I made exactly the same coffee with exactly the same creamer, and… nothing happened beyond the caffeine-fueled spike.

It wasn’t until I took pre-scheduled time away from work (had a trip planned, had to cancel same) that I realized I’ve been walking the knife-edge of a meltdown for an extended period of time. I readily admit to being

a workaholic

married to the grind

all about the process

committed to the game

about that life

trying to take care of my chicken (shouts out to Marshawn Lynch)

…and yet, getting away from it makes me realize just how deficient my self-care has become, as far as mental/emotional health is concerned. I can pride myself on strength of mind/body/will/immunity, but… without real maintenance, the bottom quickly falls out from under you—I understand that, now.

In taking a big-picture look at my life, I see the stubbornness and pride that drives my work ethic & habits. I see the near-totality with which my professional goals dominate my worldview—and yet, when presented with the idea of being assigned to general news reporting (something I’d never thought I’d put myself in position to do), I said, repeatedly and fervently…

yes.

bring it on.

sports journalists are specialists—if I’m unable to do this, I’m a failure in this profession

This is primarily due to my general view of sports in society. Sport is a feature by which we connect to each other by shared fandom, by hot takes (of which there are a breathtaking number, and many of them willfully stupid), by emotional investment in something outside ourselves, by witnessing performances that inspire us, however briefly. It is respite and relief. Absent that, we are forced to confront our collective reality, and… it can be grim.

Continuing the big-picture look, I admit to both neglecting other areas of my life and doing very little (relatively speaking) about it. Curiously, I also profess to believe what you do and who you are are distinct states of being.

With forced social isolation now a matter of survival, I lean unconsciously on old childhood habits, seeing that the adult in me flourishes socially and emotionally while the child did not—he knew only “goals” and “pursuing excellence.”

Now, I get it. I understand what anxiety and fear in their purest forms can do to a human being—mind and body.

At the very least, when we make it to the other side of this pandemic, I’ll be far more compassionate, relieved to know we’re much more alike than we are different.

I’ll share two songs today—one inspires a little joy, and the other keeps the soul holding on a little longer.