Tribute Speech for Janet

( I had the honor of speaking at my grandmother’s funeral earlier this week)

Yesterday at the wake, I heard someone say “are all these people are here for Janet” I’m sorry I don’t remember who asked, but I thought to myself, of course they are.

You see, when you give so much of yourself to so many people, it’s a simple decision to go pay your respects. Everyone who was there yesterday, everyone who is here today has been touched in some way by this incredible woman. 

And I wish I could stand up here and speak for all the good she has done for everyone, but we would be here all day, truly. 

What I can speak on though is what she has done for me.

When I was little, I fell in love with a game. I was given the opportunity to and then was fully backed throughout the 30 something years I have been playing.

Janet believed in me and supported me and made sure I had what I needed to achieve my dreams. She and Papa would do anything. They drove to Penn State more times than I can count. Took round trips out to Texas, California, Missouri, Florida, and more. I even remember a time Janet flew to Vegas for a soccer tournament. Yes, she flew on a plane.

But I’m not entirely sure if that one was just to see me play.

She and Papa would drive me to practice, to games… they went to as many as they possibly could. She was always ready to tell my coaches off if they didn’t play me enough. She was there by my bedside after every surgery, taking me to PT and filling the ice machine. We would talk every day when I lived overseas. She was just so invested.

She was invested in all of her grandchildren’s sports: Richie’s hockey, Danielle’s soccer, Bobby’s soccer, Mariah’s softball, Sandro’s soccer and lacrosse and Elan’s baseball. I know how proud she was of all of us because we all heard about each other all the time.

Having that kind of support my whole life was the difference and I never thought in her lifetime that I could repay her. I tried, but it never seemed like enough. You can’t ever fully repay someone for that kind of gift. 

When I told Janet I was retiring from pro soccer, I said thank you so much for everything. I lived the best life. And she caught me off guard by saying, thank you for giving me so much all of these years… I never would have met so many people, and saw so many places if it wasn’t for you.”

I cried hard.

When I did say goodbye at the hospital last week, with my brother by my side, Papa had his hand on Janet’s arm. She was so still and at peace. I took her hand in mine and couldn’t help but think I could wake her up.  That our bond was so strong and that this was how I would repay her for all she had done for me. That just for a moment I could possess some super human power. I squeezed her hand several times and nothing happened.

The reality that she wouldn’t be waking up, that she wouldn’t be able to see in plain day what she meant to everyone, what her loss would do to people, will always be a tragedy. I don’t know if she ever knew how deep our love was for her.

But I realize that that is the irony of life. That people are celebrated and loved most in the very beginning when we can’t remember and in the very end, when we are gone. 

Thankfully, Janet’s impact is everlasting. For all of us who have spent a significant amount of time with her, we know what parts of us are from her. We know that even though we can’t always stay, a piece of us always does. 

I will think of her every day. Every time I have macaroni. Every time I have a coffee. Every time I step on the field. Every time I have news to share. Every time I want to complain about the family. Every time I need someone to pick me up from my oil change. Every time I want to go to lunch. Every time I need a hug. Or a laugh from a mispronounced word. (She really hated Covid 19 aka Corona, aka Cona, aka Cobra)

Until we meet again, Janet. At some dinner table somewhere, with a big bowl of macaroni and meatballs, some crappy iceberg lettuce salad, with 2-3 mushy olives, too many desserts and you, you will be sitting comfortably with your coffee in your hand, a little cream, no sugar. 

Obituary: https://www.tributearchive.com/obituaries/21181728/Janet-Carol-Decarlo/wall

GoFundMe: https://gofund.me/20485a15

Take Time To Think For Yourself

Throughout my youth playing career,  I was superstitious and quirky, as my mom says.

People thought I was crazy to be outside training as much as I was, watching VHS tapes of old World Cups, jumping at any chance to guest play for teams. I was unable to comprehend why training was cancelled because of rain or why I couldn’t find more people to play with (this would be the story of my life apparently).

One of the stranger habits I can remember was actually after games. My family always wanted to go out to eat. They had just sat through what usually was a long drive, a warmup and a full game and so they were hungry.

I had just played, so naturally I should have been starving and as a wanna-be elite athlete, should have gotten food as soon as possible (not that we knew any of that back then really). Except, I had no interest in sitting at a restaurant and eating a meal. I begged to just go home. I would never win against a hungry family.

Instead, while they ate inside, I sat in the car by myself (the windows were cracked, don’t worry). 

No radio on. No cell phone. No book. Nothing. Silence.

I sat there alone.

This would occur whether we won or lost, whether I scored five goals or zero (which was rare).

I think back to that time often, especially now as I have processed my playing career over the past year or so. It’s hard to make complete sense as to why I would have done that except for the fact that maybe I wanted to fully process what had just occurred in the game, and I had to do that alone.

This was during a time when youth games weren’t filmed, clipped, analyzed and pushed all over the internet. I hardly ever saw the game back except the images I had in my head. I almost think I wanted to remember them as best as possible.  

Eventually, I would have to pee and was forced inside the restaurant.

“Oh, look who it is”

“Yeah, yeah” 

And I was pretty much fine after that. I ate. We talked about the game.

I have realized the power of that time alone. I wonder how often young players now take the time to sit and review a game in their head, to try to recall moments from it, to form an opinion of their own about it. Do they get that opportunity even?

As it is, players get a debrief from the coach, they talk the game over with their teammates and then add to that a possible in-depth analysis of the game from the parent’s point of view. How often do the players really have their own opinion of how they played? Of how the game went? Of how good the opponent was? Of the referee?  

Even if their own opinion only holds for a few minutes, at least they have thought something for them self. 

I believe this over abundance of opinions from others has led to a lot of young players holding onto opinions of themselves and the game that are not even theirs anymore.

Here’s my advice for players – take some time to think about training when it’s over. To think about the game on the car ride home. To think about what could have been better or what was done well. Just sit and think. Don’t let anyone else give their opinion right away.

If they’re really feeling motivated, they can write it down. Keep it. Then they can seek feedback from others.

A super power for athletes is to believe that they are good even when others do not, even when coaches don’t play them, even when they don’t get picked for teams. They have to see something in them self that makes them different or good in their own way. They need to look for those things inside, not from others. Hold onto them. 

Our opinions of ourselves are extremely important. And during a time when we are constantly able to hear and read other’s opinions, it gets difficult to remember how to think for ourselves and who we actually are.

Breaking Lines

In the instant that the ball reaches a player’s feet, I’m desperately searching for a way to get it from them. It’s a vulnerable situation. I start shouting. And running toward them. I want what they have.  

“Yes, yes, yes.”

I realize I’m standing in a tight space. There are defenders on both sides of me. There’s one standing directly behind me, waiting with the red eyes of the devil for the ball to land at my feet. She wants the ball to go to me. There’s a defender in front of me. She keeps turning her head back to see where I am. My head is on a pedestal; I look left, right, behind, to make sure they’re all still where there were a second ago.

They are.

The ball remains at my teammate’s feet. She isn’t sure what to do with it. She’s looking around the field, trying to avoid making a mistake. She looks at me then looks away.

“Yes, yes, yes.”

I drift back behind the two defenders on either side of me. I can see them now in my peripheral. I’m closer to the defender that’s behind me, but that’s okay.

In that instant, another teammate makes a long, darting run past the eyes of the devil, taking her attention away from me. She drops a few steps, distracted by my teammate. I stand now in a patch of space that feels free. I’m open.

“Yes, yes, yes.”

The player sees me. We make eye contact. I’m standing still. I’m not running away. I’m not checking to the ball. I’m just standing there.

The amount of time that free gap of space stays open is miniscule. It opens and closes. My teammate has to take a risk. I am the risk. I want the ball in that tight space. I want it right then. It needs to come at that specific time, at top speed.

She brings her foot back. I start thinking in my head, yes please, trust me. I can handle this.

“Yes, yes, yes.”

The ball leaves her foot and it’s coming right for me. It rolls right into my feet, past the three defenders in front of me. I take my eyes off the ball as I know it will hit my right foot. I feel it hit and I have it under control.

In the moment, I have a few choices. I received the ball in a way that allows me to go back or forward. I can go back and lose the two lines we broke, or forward, and try to break the third and final line.

There’s a safe route. Right back to the player who played me. This decision will keep everyone content. No arms flailing from the coach on the sideline. No disappointed teammates.  No getting subbed at half-time.

Going forward though, that’s risky. That player is still pushing the back line and I can play some kind of cheeky outside-of-the-foot ball that could land right in her stride.

Then we will be past the final line. We could have a 1v1 with the goalkeeper. We could score. 

I have no time to make this decision. My body acts in a way that has been trained for 30 years.

I receive the ball, look forward and make that cheeky pass. I stand there, watching the ball leave my foot, in my best bowling release form, willing the ball to curve as I told it to.

As the ball bends around devil eyes, into my teammate’s path I look around. Everyone is cool with the decision. It came off. No reason to be angry.

My teammate takes the ball around the goalkeeper. She passes it with the inside of her foot into the back of the net.  

The Difference Between Prizes and Points

As an adult, (a real one now) I see that we give young people a lot of mixed messages. I’m guilty of it myself.

We tell them to not waste opportunities. To take their goals and dreams seriously. We tell them to work hard and train more and be dedicated. We also tell them to rest, not overdo it, not over-train, to be kids and enjoy life. 

At some point, the messages have to be confusing. Are we promoting balance? Or are we promoting being the best they can be in a given area? Is there a right or wrong thing to promote? Can you do both?

The problem with messaging is that often we don’t even know our own stance on a topic. We are bombarded with everyone else’s opinions and reactions that we often forget exactly how we feel. Sometimes we even forget what we stand for.

I know that my own experiences cloud reality. I think about that all the time. From the time I was 9 years old my mom says “everything changed…you couldn’t miss practice” and that’s the mindset I’ve been in for the past 28 years of my life.

I often don’t understand balance. I don’t understand when players tell me they want to play DI college soccer or pro soccer and then they don’t come to training, they don’t watch their games back, they don’t try hard. I don’t understand when they don’t watch games on TV or go kick around in their back yard.

I don’t understand because I don’t know if they understand what they truly want. I think our messaging as adults has very often told them what they should want.

“Well, if you’re going to play on this team that travels all the time and trains 3-4x a week, then you need to probably want to play DI and get a scholarship too.”

But do the players really want that? Is that the right reason to play even?

I talked to one of my old coaches recently. He told me a lot of interesting stories, but this stood out:

“Your mom was fine. She knew you were good. She just wanted you to go to school for free. (Some other parents) were all about the status”

She wanted me to go to school for free because if I didn’t, I had to pay for it myself over time. Not because she would get the glory of saying that I went to school for free. She wanted a better life for me.

I imagine that’s how some people out there look at it. But after a year in youth soccer, I think it’s more about status and the story people can tell more than anything. It’s about saying you play for this club or that club. It’s about saying you’re going to this school or that school (even if it’s a bad fit) It’s about a lot of things I guess, but it’s hardly about soccer.

As a player, I don’t remember thinking about college. I didn’t think about who was on the sidelines watching. I didn’t write back to coaches or answer the phone when they called (yeah I was rude, sure). But I didn’t want to go through that process. I just wanted to play soccer.

I have always and will continue to play the game of soccer because of the feeling it brings me. There is no hidden agenda. It’s not to please someone or to get something. I do not expect anything in return from all I have “given” to the game. 

I don’t know how to help people reach this level of interest in something. I am trying I guess, but the one superpower I want I can’t have: to change someone’s mind.

The only thing I did learn early on that helped me with this mindset was the better I got at the game, the more I enjoyed it. So, there was a pursuit of perfection that we now know never happens. It’s just an accumulation of points like at Dave & Buster’s where at the end you get a pretty neat prize. At some point I learned that the glory of that prize only lasts a few hours and then you’re back to accumulating points again. I learned that the points was actually the fun part. Not the prize.

I am probably writing today to make sense of my own thoughts, but maybe it will spur discussion. Much of this is common knowledge, but the feeling of doing something because you truly enjoy it and not for any other reason is lost on a lot of people now. Seems like everyone has an agenda.

So often I can’t help but feel that I don’t belong and I don’t know how to help. And maybe that is something I just need to deal with. But in the meantime, it’s won’t stop me from trying to figure out my place in the game and how I can help others get to a place where their points matter more than their prize.

What Giving Players Freedom Really Means

In training the other day, one of our forwards checked to the ball with a defender on her back and instead of holding the ball up for her team, she tried to do a flick and lost the ball.

 I sat there frozen with the devil on my right shoulder and an angel on my left. 

On the one hand, her team lost the ball. She probably shouldn’t have tried it there. Now, they have to defend.

On the other hand, she saw that there was a possibility it could come off. There was some imagination, some creativity and flair.

So, really… what is the right thing to do there?

Some coaches tried to hammer this out of me. Some really good coaches too. Great people. Great mentors. Great educators.

• I was very often told that I needed to stop the tricks and flicks.

• I needed to keep possession for the team.

• I shouldn’t do that in those parts of the field.

• I needed to be a more well-rounded player.

There is a balance that can be found. I have had it with some coaches, where players feel freedom to be who they truly are and show how they understand and see the game. These are the environments I thrived in the most.

And maybe this is okay more so in youth sports. Where stakes are supposed to be low. Where development is the goal. Maybe college and pro coaches won’t feel this like I have felt this. (And let’s be clear, I am not promoting a Mario Balotelli moment here).  

But, instead of taking something away from them, can you help them refine and perfect it? Can you nurture what they have brewing in them? Show them where to do it. When to do it. Almost encourage it when it’s on?

If I yelled at that player to not do that there in that moment, the teaching lesson is not just to that player, but the whole team.

The teaching lesson is that doing tricks and flicks is not okay. That we shouldn’t try to go forward as much as possible. That you will be yelled at for trying.

The teaching lesson for me when I was younger should have been more about my reaction to losing the ball and less about taking creativity away. It should have been where is the best place and time for this? That would have helped me more as a player.

I don’t know how many times in my life I have heard, “you’re lucky that came off” or “you’re lucky that worked out” – Like, no you’re lucky. The worst that could happen is we lose the ball. We get scored on. We lose the game. That is the worst scenario.

The worst case scenario is we lose the game! OK! Move on. Learn from it.

I have a long way to go as a coach, no doubt.. but I feel some of these situations deep down in my core, and I feel it’s my duty to share them with whoever wants to listen. Not only to help improve the player-coach experience, but to improve girls soccer and the women’s game as a whole.

The Thin White Line: What divides a coach from a player?

I’m in a unique position.

And I can see it very clearly every day how unique it is.

While on staff at Yale, the coaches gather after training and talk about the session. Their hands in their pockets, looking over at the players, it’s clear they have analysis and suggestions for one another.

The players are doing partner stretching as part of their cool down after training. They’re engrossed in conversations about everything and anything and don’t even acknowledge the coaches.

I watch from the bench as a member of some sort of purgatory world that many have lived in before, seeing both at the same time.

So, I just sit there and watch. Realizing that I don’t fully fit in either group (yet or anymore).

Is this purgatory?

At Oakwood Soccer Club, I’m working with the three oldest Girls DA teams with DA Director Matt Cameron. During game day talks I listen intently as he gives the players bits and pieces before the warmup. He does a good job to give action items and a little bit of juice to get them pumped.

A few times I have caught myself nodding in agreement with him, ready to go on the pitch and do all the things he just said to the team.

“We got this,” I think to myself.

Then he looks over at me in front of the group and says, “do you have anything to add?” And I’m snapped out of the moment.

“No, I’m good.” Matt gets it. He’s the same way.

The Yale staff play in an indoor coed league. They get it.

The reality is, again, that I’m in a unique position.

I’m still a player. I will always be a player. I will always play soccer for a team or pickup or something. And this is the part I struggle with, because I don’t understand it. I always want to be a player.

A while ago, I asked social media for some help on ideas of what to write about.

One of my friends, an outspoken soccer head on Twitter, John Pranjic of the 3FOUR3 team, said, “What is something that only you can write about? Whatever that is, that’s what you should write about.”

That was the best response I received.

Throughout my life, starting at an early age, I have been told that I am different.

“You’re the 1 percent.”

“Kids are not like you.”

“You are rare.”

“People don’t like soccer that much.”

I used to like hearing this because it made me feel special. Now, I like hearing this because I realize it gives me something in my trick bag that other coaches maybe have lost or forgotten.

The unique position I am in now is this: I have been given a powerful little title like “coach” but have given myself an even more powerful title of “player”.

I realize that not every coach has played soccer. It’s just as easy to call on players, former players, to get input and help you on your journey. It’s also maybe worth it to get in a league and try to play a little soccer here and there yourself.

Otherwise, you’re just a coach. And you’re just seeing things from one point of view.

Some of the best coaches in the world, people we idolize and fawn over, were players. Do we forget that? Some played at a very high level too. Do we forget that?

And maybe, just maybe, that has been an issue in the US when it comes to coaching. People are very interested in tactics and less interested in what it feels like, what it means, what it actually IS to be a soccer player.

Last week I had a cool opportunity. I was able to coach alongside a coach I had when I was a youth player, Everald Benjamin.

Do you know what I remember about Everald? He was a player while he was coaching. I watched him play college soccer, indoor soccer and he would jump in with us and meg the crap out of us, and he would just laugh and laugh.

He loved the game. He loved it as a coach and as a player and he is still of the same mind today. You can keep that mind. It’s a choice.

I think this idea of duality could possibly create the very best coaches in the world. Pushing boundaries and forcing ourselves to contradict ourselves.

Asking ourselves questions like: Will the players like this? Do they like playing with each other? Are they sleeping enough at night? Are they stressed with school? College process? Am I overcoaching during the game? Would I want to be asked 20 times a game “What are you doing?!” What is important to them? Do they feel like they’re getting better? Do they like that position they’re playing? Are they playing scared to make a mistake because of me?

Here's something else to ask yourself:

What would it take for you to consider yourself both a coach and a player again (or for the first time)?

30 Years Later

In the fall of 1989, a few months after the release of Batman (1989), a conspiracy began. I was 5 years old at the time and I didn’t know what the word conspiracy meant. But I do now. And I see it all very clearly.

The Alchemist made this easier to explain. “And when you want something, all the universe conspires in helping you to achieve it.” I have felt this for 30 years.

My parents put me in soccer when I was 5. I remember my first practice on a grass field in the back of a community college in North Haven, Conn.

The first few years of my playing days, I played soccer like everyone else did. Casually. For fun. I went to practice. Because it wasn’t training yet. It was practice. It was a hobby. I wore my shin guards over my socks. And cleats from Bradlees. My family was adept in areas like hockey, basketball and oddly enough, Jai alai.

Not soccer.

They knew nothing about soccer. So, from the start I knew more than they did about the sport. It was weird to know more about something than your family, especially at a young age. It still is to an extent.

As I grew, this hobby became an obsession. My mom told me that around 8 or 9, things changed. She doesn’t give me the details that I crave. She makes claims like “the 90s were a blur,” and “I don’t know what I did yesterday,” but she says it became serious; she says I couldn’t miss practice.

I remember some things. Being in my front yard with the ball. I didn’t have cones. Or videos. Or a personal trainer. Just one ball and me.

I watched VHS tapes of old World Cups. I can’t tell you how many times I watched the 50 Greatest Goals of the World Cup.

In 1994, I vowed to never hit a PK over the crossbar in a game. I never did.

I started counting my juggles and becoming consumed with numbers. I have pieces of paper with random numbers on it and then crossed off. I have pages of games that I played, goals I scored and assists I had. Then at the bottom the totals are all added up.

I remember going to soccer camps and being nervous every time, almost to the point of not wanting to go. My mom would push me to go. To try it. I never wanted to leave by the end of the week.

I remember people telling my parents I would get a scholarship to play in college. When I was 10. I wanted to go to UNC like everyone else. I wanted to be on the National Team, like everyone else.

But I didn’t think about that stuff from day to day. All I thought about was the ball. I just wanted the ball.

During these years, I celebrated Halloween by wearing the same costume almost every year. Batman. I had to be Batman.

(Exceptions included the year my dad hand-made a Marvin the Martian costume and being a Ninja Turtle once or twice).

I had no clue why I felt drawn to this fictional character. He was like my first hero. He was so cool. And dark. And mysterious. He would often save the day. Beat the bad guys.

I don’t have a childhood explanation for it. But my adult explanation is that he lived two lives. And I could relate to that. He would save the day. And I wanted to relate to that.

During the day, I went to school. I was social. I had friends. I did homework. I played. But then a switch flipped and I was a soccer player. Consumed. Obsessive. Intense. Scoring goals for fun. Winning games for my teams. Feeling untouchable at times.

I was two different people. I was living two different lives.

Like most kids from the 80s, I played my favorite sport in high school. I was good. Unlike most kids from the 80s, I got a scholarship to play that sport for free in college.

High school really showed me how different I was. The morning after prom, my mom picked me up at a hotel room at 6 to take me to a tournament. I didn’t care that everyone was going to the beach. I could flip the switch when I wanted to.

College was fun. I played well. I scored goals. I remember driving in my car on campus after we won our Elite 8 game to go to the Final Four. I felt like I was on top of the world for a brief moment.

It was at Penn State that I realized this obsession was going to become a career. The switch was almost always on.

When I graduated from Penn State, there was no pro league in the US. I played in the WPSL for a few years. Then headed to Finland to get paid to play for the first time.

I was officially a pro. It was 2008. There was just one side to me at this point. And it stayed that way for 12 years.

Twelve years, 14 teams and 6 countries later and here I am. It is time to flip the switch back a little.

I didn’t think I would “get around” so much. I didn’t think I would tear my ACL. I definitely didn’t think I would never recover from it. I didn’t think I would be cut so many times. I didn’t think I would sit the bench so much. I didn’t think I would have such a hard time leaving my family all the time. I didn’t think about the bad things that would happen.

When I started, I thought two things: one was that I was going to be very successful and two was that I was going to love getting to play soccer every day. Both were true, but not in the way I expected.

The most important thing I want everyone to know is this. I didn’t have the perfect pro career on paper. I didn’t achieve all of my goals. I didn’t make much money. But it was beautiful. It was all so beautiful. There is so much beauty in imperfection. I doubt I would have really known that unless I played the game the way I did.

So, stopping my journey, here, with all those games and training sessions behind me, is ok. I am ok. I cried a few times, but I think it’s just because change is hard in general. Not because my pro soccer career is over.

In my mind, retiring from pro soccer was dramatic.

In reality, it’s not.

It happened in similar fashion to when Forrest Gump stopped running in the movie:

“I’m pretty tired now, think I’ll go home now.”

“And just like that, my running days was over.”

I’m not sure what comes next exactly. I will always be a fan of the game. I will always play the game and be open to training and games and pickup and anything else people have going on.

I will put a lot of my heart and soul into Duktig Brand, because I have been able to combine two things I’m dearly passionate about (soccer and writing) to create a company I’m really proud of.

I will help players reach their goals. I will be a mentor. Nah, I hate that word. I will be someone that young players can relate to and reach out to and get help from… any age, any level.

If I look at my life as a room as described in my favorite book Letters To a Young Poet by Rainer Maria Rilke, then my soccer career has afforded me to know only a small section of “my room” which he refers to as who we are inside. But now that I am basically free to roam, I am also free to get to know other parts of my “room”. This is of course scary, but also exciting. I want to know other parts of my room. I need to kind of get to know the Bruce Wayne side a little better.

I think the fact that this is both scary and exciting is probably a good sign. One or the other would likely mean I wasn’t ready for it. The combo of the two makes me think it’s a good time.

So, here is a huge, huge thank you to every single person who has been a part of this. There are so many people. Coaches. Teammates. People I’ve met along the way. So many teams. So many places. So much love. I think of my life as the movie Big Fish. It doesn’t sound real when I tell people sometimes. It was all pretty magical. And now it all exists in the form of the person I am today.

Finally, I couldn’t have done any of it without my family.

My biggest fans. They know I-80 in Pennsylvania as well as any truck driver knows it. They would wake up early on weekends to listen to Danish, Swedish, Finnish commentators say a bunch of gibberish for 90 minutes and randomly chime in with a “Tiffany Weimer”. They came to games when they knew I wouldn’t play. They talked shit on all the coaches I’ve had (many deserved it). They did it all. And they are sad to see me stop.

I remind them who Brett Favre is.

They get it. I hope you do too.

My grandma said this the day I told her I was going to retire, “thank you for giving ME so much all of these years… I never would have met so many people, and saw so many places if it wasn’t for you.”

I cried. I didn’t expect that.

But I have learned that supporting people in their journey to achieve their dreams is one of the best moves you can make as a human. We are all here doing whatever it is we think we’re supposed to be doing. We can’t do it alone. We need each other. It works both ways.

Plus, there is literally so much upside to following your dreams, to doing what you enjoy doing.

And that is all really.

Soccer is the best thing that has ever happened to me.

And this above all else will hold true: I will still meg the shit out of everyone. For as long as I’m physically capable. This was my calling in life, I found it, I answered, and I will never feel sorry for doing it as long as I live.

I have loved every second of it.

I hope I played even a small part in others loving it too.

So, thank you for your support and for reading this. I am eternally grateful for your time and attention.

The Secret to Being Rich

Back in December, I was grappling with the idea of continuing my career as a professional soccer player or retiring. I’m 35 years old, and “retire” is a word that means something very different than what it means for most people who throw it around.

Here’s a typical conversation I have with my knees:

“We’re going to do this again, okay?”

“No, we really don’t think it’s a good…”

“Okay, great, thanks for your input.”

When my former coach Brian Sørenson called me about playing for a club in Denmark this season, I had to really convince my knees it would be okay.

I had surgery to repair cartilage in my left knee (the third surgery in that knee) in July. I was still coming back to full play and it was difficult to know what type of form I would be in or if my knees would hold up.

I say knees because often both suffer as a result of a surgery.

Even though I didn’t know what I would do, I continued to train as if I was going to play somewhere. I trained and went to PT and the gym. I played futsal and pickup and did everything I was supposed to do.

At some point, I had to give Brian an answer.

Sometimes when I don’t know what to do, I go back through my journal. If we listen to ourselves more, usually we have the answers. Advice is hard to come by when not many women have taken this path before me.

I wrote an entry about my reasons for being on earth and one of them was: to play beautiful soccer.

I needed this reminder.

I said yes to playing for FC Nordjaelland for the 2019 season. I was going to be overseas again. Away from my friends and family again. And in an uncomfortable place where everything would be new.

When I got here, my knees were still giving me problems. I thought at one point that I would maybe have to go home. That coming here was a mistake. That it was over.

But I also had a long time before our first game. So, I stayed.

With the help of the physio and strength coach, I got on a plan to get back to training pain-free.

I stuck to the plan and I played in the team’s first game last Thursday. It was my first real match since June when I played for the Washington Spirit. It was my first 90 minutes since I was in Sweden in 2016. My first goal since then too.

The kind of emotion that I felt being on the field, scoring a goal… I knew then that I made the right choice. It’s not always so cut and dry if we make the right choices, but in that moment it was very clear.

I’m supposed to be here.

I’m supposed to be playing still. Even at 35.

It is my purpose in life.

I was recently asked in an interview if I would advise young women to pursue a career as a professional athlete. My answer was this: if you’re into being rich in terms of money, for now, there might be better options. But if you’re into being rich in terms everything else, then you must.

The rewards are boundless.

I would also give this same advice to anyone considering doing anything that they feel deep down in their instincts.. something maybe that isn’t considered conventional…you must do it. You must try.

Being able to say, “I know why I’m here” and “I know why I’m doing this” is increasingly difficult these days. People are always telling us, directly or indirectly, what we should be doing and how we should fit into society, and so following our instincts isn’t as easy as we would like to think.

But when we silence the outside for a little, and listen to ourselves, I mean really listen to what we want, the path becomes a little clearer and the meaning of everything we do becomes so much deeper.

I knew at 5 years old what my purpose was, albeit at a trivial level. I am reminded of it every day that I have a ball at my feet. This is why I feel the need to do things that constantly remind me of my purpose and my why.

We are all here for something grand, even if it’s only grand in our own minds.

What's Next? Life After the United Soccer Coaches Convention

The first time I attended the (then) NSCAA Convention was way back in 2002. I was 18 years old and accepting an award for NSCAA High School All-American, a huge accomplishment in my short-lived life up until that point. 
The convention was in Philadelphia that year; it snowed like crazy the day of the awards banquet. I don’t remember much about it aside from accepting my award. My mom and grandparents came with me. They don’t remember it. 

I didn’t think much of the whole event at that time in my life. I thought it was just for giving out All-American awards (oops – living in my bubble). 

I attended last year’s (now) United Soccer Coaches Convention and this year’s in Chicago as an exhibitor, which is much different than receiving an All-American award. No free meal. No family tagging along. No glory. 

It’s different. A good different. 

While I was at the convention this weekend I found myself wearing many different hats. If you saw me, you probably saw me wearing my Duktig Brand beanie. But the hats you couldn’t see me wearing included that of a student, a teacher, a player, a coach, an entrepreneur, a friend, and a very tired and hungry human being. (Still an All-American right? They can’t like take that away from me). 

I found myself continually engaged in conversations where I had to figure out who I had to be in that moment. I had some really fun and interesting conversations too. 

I met Bob Armell, the founder of Pugg Company and found myself completely immersed in his story and what he had as advice for small businesses. (Also, if you’re not using Pugg Goals, you should, Bob is freakin awesome). 

I met Todd Beane who I only spoke to for a few minutes but for all he has accomplished and all the amazing people he knows, took the time to say hi to me every time he saw me for the rest of the convention. He even stopped by our booth. 

Jerry Smith remembered a goal I scored against Santa Clara back in 2005. That was such a cool memory for me and Penn State soccer for him to bring up. (Jerry got lots of bonus points for this, go Broncos). 

I got to see my incredible friends work on their businesses in the exhibit hall. It’s one thing to see players perfecting their craft on the field, but something completely different to see them working on running a business. Really shows the value of high-level female athletes in business in my opinion.  

Kudos to: Yael Averbuch (Techne Futbol), Skye Eddy Bruce (Soccer Parenting Association), Becca Moros and Mandy Laddish (Footyboard), Jordan Angeli (The ACL Club), Ali Krieger (AKFC).  

The whole convention really got to me. In a good way. It reminded me of a quote I had read about writing, “the best things come, as a general thing, from the talents that are members of a group; every man works better when he has companions working in the same line, and yielding the stimulus of suggestions, comparison, emlulation” (Henry James about Nathaniel Hawthorne). 

 I love this quote so much because even though we all might be in our little bubbles (my All-American bubble) we still need outside influences. But we also need to be in our bubble. 

It is so important to actually work on your craft. It is important to get out there and do. Figure out what works for YOU. Figure out if what a presenter said can even be applied to your environment. Life is literally this: getting a whole bunch of information from a whole bunch of different people and places and figuring out how the hell to plug it into your life if it can even be plugged there. 

Sometimes people forget this. Sometimes I forget this. I don’t have enough plugs. I have too many plugs. 

 At the end of the day, we have to remember a few things: 

1.    I was an All-American – we can’t forget this people. 

2.    We have to, have to work together and help each other. 

3.    The best ideas are a combination of your stuff, my stuff and some stuff we found on the street. 

4.    No one person as all the answers. Not even Raymond. 

The soccer world is messy. Not Messi. Like it should be. Messy. Especially US Soccer. It’s not all cleaned up and tidy like we would all like it. Some people are making millions off of the game. Some are losing millions. Some do it for free. Some do it in order to pay the bills. Players, coaches, administrators… I would like to sit behind my computer and say we all do it for the same reasons. We all want what’s best for the game and for the players and for the coaches and for the country. But as I get older, it’s much more difficult to believe those words. Doing the right thing doesn’t always equal money and money doesn’t always equal doing the right thing. 

How can we fix this? 

I don’t have the answer to this unfortunately. I think we have to figure out how to navigate within the mess. But what I do know is this. Duktig Brand is going to try to find its place in the soccer world and work tirelessly to impact it from the ground up. We are a small but powerful force and it is absolutely time that we give soccer people what they deserve. 

I also know that I am going to try to be in this somehow. If anyone would like to work outside their bubble, let me know. I’m in this. I’m motivated. I’m hype. I’m all in and all out. I don’t know what I am. (Tired? Overstimulated?) But I want to make some shit happen. 

DM me. 

3 Places I Find Myself

Google says to start blog titles with a number. So, I did. Let me know if that got you to click.

Anyway.

Winter mornings in Connecticut can test you. If you can dodge the punch of the darkness at 6am and dip past the cold of being the first awake in the house, then you have a chance. I don’t have anywhere to be early in the am. I just work best between the hours of 6am and 12pm. After that, my productivity level is a crapshoot. 

This morning, I peeled the covers off my body, exposing myself to the air. My first thought was coffee, even though my first thought should have been bathroom. I always wonder how we as a human race can forget that we have to pee and then are surprised when we forget anything else. 

After the bathroom, my habits take over. My habits are amazing in the beginning part of the day. 

Feed the cats

Make the coffee

Bring my breakfast up to my room

Read or write in my journal or do my homework 

Make my bed (or not)

Get ready for my workout 

GO!

Some days getting to my workout is more difficult than others. I’ll park my car in The Edge Fitness parking lot and watch as others walk by my car, full of motivation and spunk. Women in their workout tights, men in their shorts when it’s 30 degrees outside, raring to go. Me in my car, wondering if a closer spot is going to open up. Figuring out if I need to make any other calls before I go in or checking Twitter for some big news. 

Other days are awesome. I park, jump out of the car and judgingly glance at others in their cars doing what I had done just days earlier. Amazing how up and down life can be. Some days you’re ballin’ some days you’re in your car stallin’. 

When I’m at my workout, in the gym, on the field, at physical therapy, I’m good. I’m gold. Once I start, my head is down, my mind is fixed on what I’m doing and the only thing that can stop me is watching people talk on the phone while they’re running full speed on the treadmill. I find myself with my head cocked to the side watching this circus act of a workout wondering when the hell they’re going to fall. Like how do they do this? Because, I, a professional (said in French accent – go back and reread if you didn’t say it in French accent first time) cannot do that.

Leaving my workout, I walk out of the gym like I’m Meryl Streep on a regular day or like I should be throwing my hat like MTM. 

After I get home and shower, my first thought is that I have time get some stuff done. I can be creative, or work on Duktig Brand or do more homework, or pack orders or recently, work on my USSF C License work or take a nap (which is always the best option but rarely the one I take for one reason or another). Sitting at one of two desks set up in my room, I roll back and forth in my desk chair as if I’m taking calls under different names and voices for the same company:

High-pitched voice: “Hi, this is Sally speaking, how can we help you?”

Low-pitched voice: “Heyya, this is Janie in the New Yowk office, how ya doing?”

 I think that by moving about my room I can find the perfect location and feeling so that I can start to be productive. It’s a process I tell myself. It will take some time to find what works I tell myself. 
What about on the floor?

On the bed?

This desk?

That desk?

Hat on?

Hat off?

Iced coffee?

Hot coffee?

Music? 

No music?

 None of that matters usually. Some days I got it. Some days I don’t. Remember? Ballin’ or stallin’ I tell myself.  

But something I have found recently is that there is a third state or head space that I need to be in that is neither stallin’ or ballin’. In fact, it doesn’t even rhyme or have a cool n’ ending. It’s the state of brainstorming. Or maybe that word is a bit outdated now. Let’s try something cooler. How about like active pondering. Or some millennial thing. Putting ideas down. Thinking. Planning.

 It fits somewhere in the middle of wasting time and the act of doing, two areas that I find myself immersed in quite often. If I can find myself in three different states of mind throughout a day, I think I can be successful and productive. Being able to identify when I am stallin’ and gently push myself to some kind of active pondering is much easier than trying to get to ballin’ right away. 

If you’re anything like me at all, which means you’re an overthinking SOB, then sometimes life can feel paralyzing. You don’t know what to do next, likely because there are so many things that you can do. But I have found that there can be smoother transitions into what needs to be done, instead of being so hard on myself every damn day. 

Let me tell you a little something. Right now I’m in that in between phase in my life. At 35 years old, I am unsure if I’ll play another year of professional soccer. Tough to write, but at the same time, retiring from professional soccer doesn’t mean retiring from soccer. I just won’t get paid to be ballin’. Which was, to be honest, not all that much anyway. I am sure of the fact that I will play soccer every day for as long as my body can manage it. Though, it is difficult to think about not being a pro.  

I wake up now and workout or train and am not sure if it’s for a preseason or for a team overseas or a team in the summer or maybe just for futsal with my friends at the Portuguese Cultural Center. I’m in that middle part where I have to think it all through. 

I’ll be back with an update soon. But for now, I’ll just be over here, taking some notes, figuring out where my mind takes me when I’m not trying too hard, but not not trying too hard either.