Carpe Diem
By Maddie Cannon | IG: @madeleinecannon_
"What is your favorite color?" and "what motto do you live by?" are two examples of the mindless questions asked on the "Get to know me!" sheet kicking off the first week of a blissful elementary school year. Despite the simplicity of the questions, my mind would twist and become infatuated with what answers to write, hoping to deceive my peers into believing I had comfort in myself beyond wanting to impress others. In my early years of school, my teachers quickly identified with my parents that I was constantly working towards a goal of excellence. While this, at the time, was a comment of praise and admiration, it was not until this year that I learned the harm in fighting for perfection that does not exist.
Returning to the "Get to know me" activity, something that remained a consistent answer was my certainty that I was an athlete, specifically, a lacrosse player. As for the question, "What motto do you live by?" I often piggy-backed off of the stereotypical athlete grind mentality. There was no better way to display my proficient work ethic and desire to be on top than by highlighting the mental qualities lacrosse had instilled. I would say something like "hard work beats talent when talent fails to work hard" and "when you work hard, good things happen." In fifth grade, my Dad intervened. He asked me if I knew the phrase "Carpe Diem" and explained that it is Latin for "seize the day." He continued elaborating on the importance of living in the present and living for myself rather than placing all my energy and focus on the future and other people. I agreed to use this quote as my fifth-grade motto, not knowing it would save my life eight years later.
Fast forward to my sophomore year of high school, 2020. At this point, I was a candle, and lacrosse was the flame. I was standing tall with nothing but melted wax and the nub of the wick glowing orange. Lacrosse was draining me, but I was hungry for success and did not want to let my athletic light die. I had freshly made my high school's varsity lacrosse team and believed this was the validation I needed to push myself to advance. The day after my new team mummified my front porch with toilet paper to celebrate my achievement, the world shut down due to an unexpected pandemic. Between losing my first varsity season and being stuck in the house, I initially felt repetitious days of weariness. When the sun's radiant rays began to balance the chilling winter winds, I started to feel content with my new routine of daily vegetation. It felt nice to lay in my backyard and take a breath from the competitive school, clubs, and sports environment. While isolated from the world around me, there was still no escaping the seductive illusion that obtaining perfectionism through achieving lacrosse greatness was my ticket to eliminating my constant self-criticism of "not being good enough."
Fueled by the desire for perfection, I began spending the sunny days practicing lacrosse in my backyard. Simultaneously, my Dad enjoyed grilling burgers outside as the sun beamed onto his skin, crafting a glowing tan. Deceived by his healthy appearance, I lived in ignorance as he experienced his battle after unexpectedly being diagnosed with cancer. He handled this diagnosis with what I will call the "Carpe Diem approach." His nonchalant reaction tricked me into believing that there was no chance this illness would result in death. I have since learned that his diagnosis had only a 3% chance of survival. This timeframe plays in my head often. I spent my days playing a sport I no longer loved striving for an unpromised future, as my Dad lived his final few weeks enjoying the present moment.
Fast forward about two months to July, specifically a night 15 days after his birthday. I was standing beside him, scrambling for words to share while fighting the feeling of my heart taking the form of a golf ball shooting up to my throat, unsure if he could hear me, knowing that I would not be able to talk to him again on earth after this moment. I won't go into detail about the rest of this night, but less than a week later, I stood before my Dad’s casket. I was heartbroken and livid, but selfishly, I did not want to spend too much time grieving. If I were a serious athlete, a true perfectionist, I believed time off would be lazy and undedicated. No one wants a "lazy" teammate, right?
Additionally, I feared people would be able to identify my defeat. Throughout my lacrosse career, it had been instilled to control emotions with grace and not display failure. I was the most defeated I have ever been, yet I wanted to hide my emotions, and I used my minimal strength to mask these feelings of sadness. In my head, this was for the greater good of my friends, family, and teammates. Knowing that the experience of losing a parent so young is not typical, it felt easiest to move forward as if it was no big deal.
As I touched upon earlier, I continued playing lacrosse. The harder I pushed myself, the less I wanted it, and the deeper my isolation dug. I lost my spark to play, but I wanted to make those around me proud, so I persevered. My lack of focus and deep depression, unknown at the time, brought on an anxiety, also unknown, that hindered my ability to execute basic drills. It is no secret that athletic performance can dictate a player's mentality. I began questioning my lacrosse skills, which spiraled into doubting my worth as a whole. As my confidence withered, I strived for validation within my sport. Lacrosse had always been my identity, and the fear of losing the athletic respect tied with a ribbon of resilience that is gifted through perseverance was something I was so afraid to give up. When I received Division 1 offers, I felt there was no option other than to accept graciously. This was what I believed I had spent my career grinding for, I earned this, why would I stop now?
I began playing at the collegiate level and instantly hit an all-time low. I hated the unexplainable unhappiness that grasped my mind, plaguing my thoughts like a sharp shooting arrow landing on the bullseye question of “how much is too much?” I would remind myself how many people wished they were in my shoes and how "bad" of a teammate I was for even pondering stepping away. Retiring lacrosse seemed unbearably hard, but taking my own life seemed so easy. Ironically enough, at this time, my brother asked me, "Why do athletes commit suicide instead of just quitting the sport?" This question resonated heavily with my feelings but also seeped into my brain, trying to figure out the puzzle of why so many, including myself, can't "just quit."
No two stories are the same, but through self-reflection, I realized the connotations around the word quitting had created a fantasy land fenced within my thoughts about how I would be perceived and what I would lose from taking such action. Lacrosse represented a physical and mental strength, and weakness is something that no person ever wants to admit. How can one be deemed as weak when they’re athletically successful? While there will always be respect towards those who play, it is time for quitting to be regarded with strength and pride.
I was battling what I thought were negative emotions, but after seeing a therapist, I realized that no emotion should be a permanent feeling. Just as time progresses, we should too. Significant changes come with big decisions, and I put myself first at this point in the story. I thought back to my Dad explaining the significance of living in the moment and conquering the day. On this day, conquering meant overcoming my fear of stepping away from my identity as an athlete. Carpe Diem. I seized this day unlike any day I had lived through. I came to peace with realizing even if I am not playing at the D1 level, I will always be an athlete. I will always feel grateful for the friends and lessons lacrosse has taught me, the biggest lesson I learned came from stepping away. Seize the day, but then move forward. For a long time, succeeding at lacrosse was what I believed made a day good. I evolved from striving for perfectionism and greater athletic success to valuing life skills and personal growth gained through athletics. Yes, lacrosse taught me to work through adversity, but it also taught me to stay composed in times of chaos and make decisions based on what would be best for the moment. Putting myself first in this moment not only saved my life, but has opened the door to friendships and conversations with peer athletes I would have never otherwise interacted with.
I now play on my school's club team recreationally. Some days I have the mental and physical drive to participate and gain the benefits of athletics. On other days, I don't have it in me to participate, and that is okay. I have learned to take each day at a time and always stay calm in the intensity of life. Many athletes approached me after my retirement from playing on the D1 team, asking how I found the strength to quit the sport that was ultimately my identity. By seeing each day as its own and letting go of the heavy past, I could make the decision that best benefitted me. One day at a time.
