The Day I met Ryan Gosling and Decided to Quit Soccer and Travel the World
Dinggg-dongggg. It’s him, at MY doorstep! Our texting conversation had my endorphins salsa-dancing all week. This morning I showered for him, even slapped on some mascara and a spritz of perfume. And now he was here! Ryan freaking Gosling!! Taking ME out to dinner! I sprung out of bed, threw on a cute, but not too cute tank top, sucked in a deep inhale and shuffled downstairs ready to be swept off my feet. I opened the door, unveiled the curtains to my pearly whites and standing before me was none other than…not Ryan. Definitely not Ryan. It wasn’t Ryan at all. It was our 60 year-old Irish neighbor. And she was here to hand me a steam cleaner that my housemates asked to borrow to wash their hardwood floors. And I was losing my mind because over the last few weeks, I overdosed on romantic films. I logged more movie-watching hours, than I had all year.
“Keep resting until you’re entirely symptom-free” the doctor said.
I felt like an iPhone 2 , 10 years old and dropped in the toilet. I could manage a walk around town, a coffee hangout, a light swim in the ocean, but one misstep and I risked unexpectedly dropping into the red zone; zapped energy, uncontrollable head pressure, earaches, and nausea. Strenuous exercises, car rides, and Showoffs revving their motorcycles sent me into the red zone.
I was tired of recharging, waiting to be in control, and just scraping by.
I needed to escape. Get away. Break free from my “caution contents are fragile” box. Not from the pain, but from my thoughts, that were Niagara Falls flooding my brain.
I stormed down to the garage and grabbed a bike. I wasn’t supposed to bike. But I was over “supposed to.” I wasn’t meant to live life helmet strapped and bubble wrapped in bed all day.
I pedaled out to the street and hooked a left towards the sea. I didn’t know where I was going, but I didn’t care. In fact, this invigorated me. I was a rebel without a cause. Ripping off my hospital gown and whipping my greasy hair back and forth.
I arrived at the paved path along the ocean. Do I go left or right? Two songs popped into my head: Beyonce’s “to the LEFT to the left, everything I own in a box to the left” and Beastie Boys’ “you gotta fight, for your RIGHT to parrrrrr-tayyyyyy” Beastie boys for the ‘W’ today. ‘Cause I do what I want. Take that world!
My neck muscles burned and nausea tickled the inside of my neck. Not today, body, not today. I pedaled harder.
The sun was shining, the breeze against my face, and the sea on my left. Flocks of kids were building sand castles, body surfing, and soaking in nature’s abundance.
A smile poured across my face.
This place, Thirroul, it’s special. It grounded me. Much like the Columbia Gorge and the Black Butte of Sisters, Oregon. Maybe more.
I gazed out at the ocean to see a surfer catching a gnarly wave. Before my concussion Keelin, Paige, Carm, and I received surf lessons from a guy named Lewis. On a whim, Lewis took a semester off from acquiring his engineering major to work at a surf camp in France. For six months, he lived in a tent in the forest next to the beach. He taught campers how to surf, then used the income to travel.
When Lewis returned back home to study, he felt something lacking in his life. He asked himself when he was happiest. His mind shot back to France. So he took a semester off and taught the same surf camp, then traveled the world to Portugal, The Canary Islands and beyond (full story here).
A legendary motto to live by. I asked myself the same question:
When am I happiest?
I am happy now. By the ocean, traveling, exploring, meeting new people, hanging with my loved ones, helping others, writing, chilling at coffee shops. experiencing new cultures, surfing, reading, learning, growing, working out, cooking, playing soccer…
I am happy playing soccer.
But I haven’t been able to play soccer in weeks.
I actually haven’t been able to focus solely playing soccer in awhile.
I’ve struggled with migraines, torn ligaments, digestion, and energy issues for years now.
I’m a firm believer that overcoming obstacles are a necessary component in the process of achieving goals. They are invaluable teachers and make crossing the finish line that much more rewarding.
For me, these setbacks have provided fortuitous writing opportunities:
When I escaped from my hospital bed to watch a Chelsea Handler show at the Sydney Opera House
That one time I was impaled by a pole stake
With every past roadblock, I have convinced myself that once I learned my lesson and healed, then I would experience my big breakthrough.
Like before Australia, I rested and felt the best I had in a while, and was ready to “turn up”, as the cool kids say.
And then my concussion happened.
There comes a point, when these things start to pile up and you inevitably begin to question your trajectory. It’s like if you were to play a continuous game of Jenga for a year straight with friends. And every round, you are the one who pulls out the wood block that makes the entire tower come crashing down. The first few times you may attribute your defeat to luck, or lack thereof, but then after the 12th time you start to wonder if the game is rigged. Or maybe it’s just not your game. Maybe you should just accept that it’s not your game, and go to the cupboard to pick a new one.
Is soccer just not my game?
I’ve been blessed to pursue something that has made my heart happy for twenty years. Soccer has been my BFF. The Tigger to my Pooh. The one I rely on to cheer me up when I am down in the dumps. It’s allowed me to create life-long friendships, travel the world, and impact the community. I’ve won two high school championships, I played at my dream soccer college, University of Portland, represented the U.S in the U-20 World cup and played professional soccer in my home town. But lately, soccer has been feeling like my Eeyore.
I reflected as I rode by the neighboring beach on my left.
Everyone has to stop playing eventually right? I mean, according to that NCAA commercial,“there are over 400,000 NCAA student-athletes and just about all of us will be going pro in something other than sports.” Apparently I have already defied odds. You rock Kendall. But now I’m over overcoming “health” things. I just want to play free. Maybe this is a sign it’s my time to step down.
My entire life, I have been zeroed in on my soccer aspirations. I have clung on tightly, not letting anything stop me from reaching them. I just knew I was going to make them happen, to the point where I never took the time to examine alternative options.
But, here I am, biking along the ocean, soccer-less, yet content. So content, that I want to ride this bike forward. Forever. And not look back. I’m tired of flat tires. I want to ride and ride and ride and see things and feel things and do ‘Me’ things without incessant complications.
You know what? Maybe soccer is weighing me down. Maybe I don’t need soccer. Maybe…maybe I should open up a cafe. I could offer acai bowls, coffee, matcha lattes. All the freshest most organic ingredients. The ambiance, a compilation of all my favorite coffee shops. Super chill-vibed. Open, airy. Natural lighting. Massive windows. Super earthy with succulents and recycled timber floors. Fresh sunflowers at every table. Happy people only. No extra charge for almond milk or coconut milk! Did you hear me!? No extra charge for milk substitutes!!! You’re welcome. You pay for the person behind you, so you feel like you are giving to others. Talk about a cup half full with gratitude.
My bike speed doubled with each erratic thought. My neck beat to the bass of a worn-down dance club, but I didn’t care.
Or what about a fro-yo shop!? A coconut frozen yogurt shop. In Portland. With healthy toppings like kale chips, andHoney Mama’s fudge bars, and sprouted almonds! Keep Portland weird. Maybe this place would get so much hype that Ryan Gosling would come visit.
Forty-minutes past since I left my house. My energy now matched that of a human who chugged three consecutive Red Bulls. I didn’t want this ride to end.
Wait, hold your horses Kendall, I want to travel more. I could follow Lewis’ path and teach a surf camp. But only one problem, I’m a newbie surfer. I could create a soccer surf camp. Go to South America. I need to brush up on my spanish first, but that’s what Duolingo is for! I could recruit Rachel Quon and we could use our spanish speaking skills to teach soccer during the camps, and hire some surfers to teach surfing. And then we could travel the world!!!
The possibilities are endless!!
I don’t need soccer!!!
Right as I reached this epiphany, I hit the red zone hard. Each pedal lowered me further down from cloud nine. It was time to go home. I found a nearby train station, and rode back to my apartment.
That evening, my roommates arrived home from work and I filled them in on my grand plan.
After I finished my explanation, they looked at me as if I was the cousin of an extraterrestrial.
They speculated that I might be having these emotions because I’m in a vulnerable, healing state and suggested I think my plans over for a bit before buying my plane ticket to South America.
They had a point.
I am healing, maybe instead I should open up a wellness center on a Caribbean island. With yoga and meditation with eco-friendly floating mats in the ocean and live Trevor Hall music.
I elected to mull my thoughts over.
A week past, then two, and I was feeling better. Actually, a lot better. To the point where I was ready to try my first real workout. I opted for a bodyweight circuit.
I ventured over to the nearby park, plugged in Aloe Blacc’s “The Man” (still waiting for “The Woman” rendition) and performed some dynamic stretching.
Now, it was time for my strides. I started with an easy jog down the field. I felt a little light-headed, but nothing terrible. The next stride, I slowly accelerated into a run. And it was as if each of my steps were orchestrated to the symphony of soccer memories.
I had flashbacks to the moment my high school team won the school’s first ever soccer championship in penalty kicks, My arms flailing, rushing the field, pouring ice water over our coach’s head.
My first game back after tearing my ACL. Pure bliss stepping onto Merlo Field in front of University of Portland’s rowdy villa drum squad.
Waking up at 5:00am to get in one last drenched-in-sweat workout before catching a flight to Australia.
The Thorns pre-game locker room. Kat Williamson twerking to Lil Wayne. Allie Long kicking a ball against the the couch. Michelle Betos foam rolling against the refrigerator. Everyone preparing in their own way.
The ravenous Rose City Riveters erupting in unison after a victory.
The higher my heart rate rose, the faster the images came pouring in.
I was fired up. These images paper-shredded my bike ride visualizations. My cafe and coconut yogurt shop were now torn to pieces.
I love soccer. I love soccer!! I love soccer and I don’t care who knows it!! What the heck was I thinking giving up soccer??
All of my setbacks in life have strengthened me and have been necessary components to my personal evolution.
Just because I could be happy without soccer, doesn’t mean I shouldn’t have soccer in my life. Few things give me the unadulterated happiness of playing the game. That bliss is worth chasing. I don’t have to wait until I’m back on the field to be happy. I can take off my eat-sleep-breath soccer blinders, enjoy the process, and trust that life is working for me and not against me.
Soccer, after all was the very reason I was here in Australia, in a beautiful beach town mesmerized by the land and people. And it’s the reason I got to go on a date with Ryan Gosling. Not literally. Figuratively. The literal will come when Ryan sees the New York Times rave review write-up of my coconut frozen yogurt shop and he contacts me eager to try it. And then I’ll say “cool ya if you want to I guess”, and we’ll go grab a casual bite to eat beforehand. At my cafe, of course. And then I’ll find out he surfs and wants to join in on the South America adventure and we’ll book our ticket and fly out the next day. Alright, maybe that doesn’t happen. But that’s okay too. I can be happy with or without Ryan anyways.