Shit.I’m going to need a lot more than an hour session.
"Hey, there’s no wrong answer here.You look a little nervous.Don’t be.Tell me what’s on your mind."
"Everything."It’s the truth."I feel like I’m spinning around in circles, and I don’t know which way is up anymore.I want to get off the ride, but I don’t know how.I’m afraid if I try, I’ll fall down and never get up again."I have a mental image of me stepping off a fair ride only to get sucked up underneath it, whipping around like a rag doll as it continues to spin.
"So what do you do about that?"he asks, leaning back in his chair, his fingers carefully tented under his chin.
"Nothing.And then I hate myself for doing the same thing day in and day out."At least I’m still buckled into the ride.
"Tell me what your days are like."
I fill him in on the doomscrolling and the aesthetic videos, including pretending to cook, when I can barely follow a recipe."No matter how hard I try, I seem to mess up the stupid directions."Then it dawns on me why."I’m dyslexic.I just found out.Do you think that could be why the recipes are hard for me?"
"Undoubtedly.Has reading always been challenging?"
I nod."Everyone thought I was being lazy or that I wasn’t trying.I was, so I thought I was just dumb.It certainly seemed that way.Whatever I did, it wasn’t good enough."
"You said you recently found out that you have dyslexia.Tell me about that."
I recount the conversation with Rachel, and then with my parents."They didn’t think it would be a big deal because I had a high IQ.I’ve spent my entire life thinking the only option I had was to cash in on my athletic talent and my looks, both of which are short-lasting and temporary."
"And now?"
"That’s the big question, isn’t it?I need to go back to high school and work with the guidance counselor and take one of those career-readiness tests.Although I’d probably still bomb it because it’s not like reading is easier, just because I know about the dyslexia now."It feels good to open up about this stuff, like I’ve primed the pump and now the water’s ready to flow."And that’s the thing.I need to figure out what comes next because I need to be better."
"Why do you need to be better?"
"I … I’m interested in someone.Someone I want to have a future with.I don’t think I should be taking my clothes off for other women if I belong to her.So then what do I have?"
"Before soccer, what did you want to do?What did you want to be when you grew up?"
"A magician."It’s the God’s honest truth.
"Ooookay," Watson says, drawing the word out."That’s a starting place."
"Not really.I beat the odds by becoming a professional soccer player.I don’t think becoming the next David Copperfield is in the cards for me."
Watson laughs a little."Would it help you to know that you’re not the only player in the twilight of his career to have this same kind of identity crisis?"
I look up from staring at my hands, which are much less interesting than the bombshell the psychologist just dropped on me."What?"
"This is not uncommon," he says."Frankly, I’m more concerned when a player does not go through this process.You’ve been playing this sport for as long as you can remember.It’s probably all you’ve ever wanted to do.It’s been your focus, your purpose, your identity.It makes sense to be stressed out about what comes next.Not very many athletes prepare for life after sport during their career.It’s something that the industry needs to address."
Relief floods through my body."I kind of feel like I’ve been spiraling with this.Maybe even a little depressed."It feels good to say that out loud instead of letting it silently fester.
"And you may continue to struggle with those feelings.They’re natural when facing a transition.I’m going to refer you to a life coach, so you can work on figuring out your goals and whatever obstacles might be in the way.Together, you’ll develop a plan for your post-soccer life."He hands me a business card as I stand to leave."I’ve had several patients work with Brooke, and they seem highly satisfied."
Walking out of the office, my body feels lighter, but the card weighs heavily in my hand.What if I can’t come up with a plan?What if I can’t figure out who I am outside of soccer?What if I never find my calling?
I make it to the practice facility and drop my bag in front of my locker.Because of my appointment, I’m early.This has never happened before.Just as I’m about to start berating myself for being habitually late, I remember the podcast I listened to about dyslexia.Time management—specifically time blindness in my case—can be part of it.So maybe I’m not rude.Maybe it’s not that I don’t care about my team or others.Maybe it’s just that I haven’t given my brain the support it needed to be on time.
Wow, the breakthroughs are hitting all over the place.
I pick up my phone to text Rachel, but then I put it down.I need to have myself a little more together—have more of a plan—before I ask her to be in the audience of the shit show that is my life.I will figure it out and arrive on her doorstep, a new man.And then I’ll tell her that I don’t want to be friends and that I don’t want our one night in Vegas to be the last time I ever hold her or make love to her.I’ll tell her that I can see myself falling for her.Or maybe that I’ve already fallen.
She’s on the same page—at least she said so after the game.She’s falling for me as much as I’m falling for her.Maybe if we canbothwork on ourselves a little bit, we can have a future together.
Despite my early arrival, I’m not the first one there.The new guy, Crew, is sitting on the chair in front of his locker, head in his hands.He’s way too early in his career to be this dejected.Of course, my telling him that he was no Brandon Nix probably didn’t help.I need to be more supportive and encouraging to the players at the start of their careers.
