On January 29th, 2016, a concussion sent me home from Simcoe, Ontario. It was a memory loss hit. It was, momentarily, a blackout hit. It sent me back to Connecticut, months too early.
It was Malcolm X who said,“tomorrow belongs only to those people that prepare for it today.” It is a prominent line from his address at the founding rally of the Organization of Afro-American Unity. It emphasized the inherent significance of education in discovering self-determination and self-defense. To say it briefly, Malcolm X recognized the importance of defining one’s self within terms outside of skin-color, socioeconomic status, or any other ‘label trait.’
To live alongside his words is to direct meaning from within rather than have it systematically assigned. The true definition of worth, therefore, is how you prepare for tomorrow, at today, knowing the possibility that life could crash down at any point around you.
In today’s world, someone or something else too often defines individuals. When surrounded by imminent success, it becomes nearly impossible to distinguish a person from their accomplishments. Happiness becomes derived solely from win and loss, and without an appreciation for effort. With each new ‘trophy’ comes a sweeping indulgence of dopamine; with each new failure, that wrenching slide into depression.
To be prepared for anything tomorrow, we must define ourselves outside of simple success, whether that lies in athletics, academics, or social bonds. As William Ernest Henley remarked in his acclaimed short poem, Invictus, whatever “fell clutch of circumstance,” whatever “bludgeonings of chance,” whatever “horror of the shade,” Man must be their own master. Along this passionate spirit, if we find content with ourselves, then we are truly invulnerable.
That being said, we should not be simply okay with ourselves and how we are right now. If there is a dream to become something greater, do not throw that passion aside. Strive to become your ideal. Be happy with yourself, but always seek opportunities that stimulate internal growth.
Although words often bear great meaning, the only way to sincerely understand Malcolm X’s speech, and Henley’s poem, is to experience that tidal wave of uncertainty in person.
For me, losing the pillars of how I had defined myself meant, at first, devastation. In my mind, I had created an idealized me that was that Junior A hockey player. He was a two year student council representative. He was an editor on the school newspaper and a go-to guy for his friends. He was cheerful and unfazed by life. This figment was my resume and I had him prepared for whatever occasion.
By the end of February, I had been in bed for a few weeks. I had pretty much memorized the ceiling and each morning I watched in the mirror as I got both skinnier and fatter. It was terrifying. When the daily headaches finally began to cool, my first thought, of course, was to try and skate again. I would go only a few minutes at a time until a pounding dizziness brought me to the bench. Only half an hour passed before the headaches stopped disappearing between my short sessions. So I was forced to stop. It was like walking away from Simcoe all over again. It was heartbreaking.
I spent a couple days just in bed again. No screens. No light. When the pounding became bearable again, I tried school. After only seeing family for the month I was back, it would be healthy to see friends again. I wasn’t enrolled and I wasn’t taking any classes at Hopkins. I joked to friends that I was on summer break, but in reality I struggled between the concussion and the remainder of my online courses.
The more time I spent at Hopkins, the more I realized how different life was with friends. I wasn’t the same person anymore. Everyone had toiled on through another year of Hopkins life while I’d already left the bubble.
I couldn’t just jump back into the flow of things anymore. With friends, we couldn’t pretend, much as we tried, that a whole year hadn’t passed since we’d last really talked.
Being gone a year, I was no longer on the Student Newspaper. The masthead had been changed, and I’d been replaced.
As a few months went by, I desperately tried to grasp at my past life at Hopkins. I wanted to return to the end of my sophomore year and continue through from there. I ran for student council for the Class of 2018, since I would be repeating my junior year. I ran with a heaviness, knowing that in the end, I wouldn’t win and I didn’t. But, what else would you expect as an incoming student? There were so many kids in the class that I just didn’t get to know.
As Hopkins life folded around me, I turned back towards my hockey. I was still concussed, but I began skating every other day during public hours at Shelton, Connecticut. I’d roar down the ice, weaving between skaters, adrenaline pumping until my head pounded and I couldn’t take the ache anymore. I’d rest a few minutes and try again. It wasn’t smart, but I couldn’t keep myself away. I needed something to hold on to. And as each day went by again, I became less and less sure that I would ever really return to full strength.
By the end of March, I was left asking myself who I was. I didn’t know how I would define myself if things continued the way they were going. I had a swelling fear of ‘what if the doctor never cleared me?’
I asked myself pointless questions: If I wasn’t a hockey player anymore, did I just give up a year for nothing? Were my sacrifices towards student council and the newspaper justified? If I couldn’t play hockey anymore, was it worth missing my graduating class of 2017 and having to stay another year for the class of 2018?
And over the past three months, I could only fervidly watch as my “idealized” me fell sick. Then finally after great struggle, it had withered and died.
In retrospection, I had pulled the final lifeline from that ideal. It wasn’t taken away. I stored it away like a worn and shrunken blazer and started to work on a new one. It was time to reimagine myself.
Over a three month period, life had crashed down around me and I was in no way prepared for it. I stumbled and I fell and cursed and got up for a few days just to fall again. I can only hope that I handled it in the best way I could and move forward. If I am fortunate, this post is the end of this crucible. And if not, I am ready to face the rest. To end on Henley, “It matters not how strait the gate/ How charged with punishments the scroll,” I am the master of my fate, I shall forever be the captain of my soul.
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