Calmer Waters
July 6, 2023 | Season 1, Issue 5
I sat in my "perch" that first Sunday back in Houston.
This is my name for my usual seat at church. It's up in the balcony, off to the side.
I like it because I can see everyone on the main floor. If I lock eyes with someone I know, I'll give a smile and a wave, but that's about it.
But I really like it because I don't have to actually engage with anyone. It's the spot for us who need some space from the "togetherness" of a Sunday morning. I'm not great at masking my emotions for the sake of small talk.
I often think about playing professional baseball as being in a boat in the middle of the sea. It's a great adventure. There are storms. There are calm waters. There is wind and rain. There is sunshine.
My job is to figure out how to enjoy each of those environments. And to control what is inside my boat.
I genuinely thought last year was going to be my last season playing baseball. By the end of spring training, I expected to have another unremarkable season in the minor leagues and retire quietly at the end of the year.
Instead, I made my MLB debut. And that experience immediately sent a huge gust of wind in my sails. New momentum and restored optimism.
But what happens when that wind pushes you straight into the rocks?
Stuck in the Rocky Shores
When I first got hurt in August of last year, I wanted to do everything I could to get back on the field as soon as possible. The Phillies were in the middle of a wild card race. As the days and weeks went along, it looked more and more likely there would be playoff baseball in Philadelphia once again.
Yet, as the regular season was winding down, my elbow was getting worse and worse. Eventually, the Phillies put me on the 60-day Injured List and just like that, the storybook ending of my magical season was over.
(NOTE: Getting to make my debut was everything I could have ever imagined (and more). The Phillie faithful welcomed me with open arms. And despite only appearing in 6 games, I felt like I performed the role I was asked to as well as I could. I felt like I contributed. I felt like I helped when they needed me. And that's a really good feeling.)
Back in Clearwater, my sights were set on 2023. The Phillies signed me to a minor league deal in January and I showed up to spring training with high hopes of making the team out of camp. I was ready to test my offseason rehab work. I expected to feel better as camp progressed.
But that didn't happen.
By the end of spring training, my elbow was hurt again. The same thing that kept me out at the end of last season was rearing its ugly head and I needed to recover.
My last game with the Phillies was against the Atlanta Braves on March 18, 2023. Ironically, my first big league game was against the Braves 9 months earlier. But this time, everything was different.
Instead of putting up a scoreless inning like I did in my debut, I gave up 4 hits, 2 walks, and 3 runs before I was pulled from the game. My command was terrible, my velocity was down. I knew I was hurt.
That afternoon before the game, I shared a Twitter thread that went viral. The next morning, I shared my first issue of this newsletter which expanded that thread. It's called My Honest Reality. It's a raw look at what being an up-and-down, often-injured baseball player looks like. And in the midst of the uncertainty every day brings, learning to choose gratitude over anxiety. It was real and it was from the heart.
As all of you were reading that piece the morning of March 19, I was in the doctor's office faced with an uncertain future. "How long will I be out? Can I do more physical therapy? Do I need surgery? Will I get to play again this season?" We settled on giving me a cortisone injection to help reduce the inflammation. I'd be out a 3 weeks, at a minimum.
The 'rubber' of my writing was immediately meeting the 'road' of reality. Can I actually choose gratitude when these anxiety-inducing circumstances are all around me?
In that piece, I said this season would likely be my last. Not because I didn't want to play longer, but because I'd rather live every day as if it were my last.
And to my surprise, as if it were prophecy, I was released the very next day. In a moment, my time with the Phillies was done.
Writing immediately became a therapeutic outlet for me as I spent the next two days in Clearwater. I wrote the most vulnerable piece I might ever share, Grief and Goodbyes. It was a real-time reflection on being released. When love meets loss. When gratitude meets grief. When passion meets pain.
A few days later, I moved back home to Houston, not sure what was next for me. But I kept writing.
The next two entries were honest reflections on what lies ahead. When Disappointment Speaks addressed dealing with the disappointment of not playing this season. Release the Wolves shifted my perspective on discipline and its place in my life as my usual routines leave me. (I still apply the Beautiful Ecosystem framework to my life).
Around the time I published my last piece on April 13, I could sense two things happening:
My elbow wasn't getting any better with physical therapy.
My well of inspiration was running dry.
And as it turned out, my suspicions about my elbow were correct. After a few weeks of no improvement, I set up an appointment to see an orthopedic surgeon here in Houston. And the result?
Surgery.
I had an arthroscopic procedure on April 26 to clean up my elbow joint.
When I had the elbow arthroscopy on April 26, there was less than a 50% chance I could play again this season. Now, it's virtually 0%. Physical therapy has been a steady progression, but slower than I prefer. Nonetheless, I am optimistic about playing once more, whether that is winter ball, next season, or both.
On the writing front, it has been almost 3 months since my last post. This is my 10th attempt to write this piece. (Not exaggerating). Every time I sat down before this, the words never felt right. They were incomplete at best. Fraudulent at worst.
How could I give any meaningful words to you when my well has dried up? How could I write about dealing with the adversity I'm going through when I still feel so inadequate handling it myself?
Despite all this, here we are. I've published this piece and you're reading it. And to be honest, these words still don't feel perfect, but they are the best I have.
Calmer Waters
Sitting in that church pew that April Sunday morning, I was trying to come to terms with reality. I was thinking. I was praying. And I was asking questions...
"Where am I? Where am I... spiritually? Emotionally? How am I doing in my soul?"
"Why are these things happening? Why did I get called up then get injured 6 weeks later? Why did I get signed back to the Phillies only to get released? Why do I have to get surgery?"
"What should I be doing right now? What should my daily routine look like? What can I do right now?"
"Will I be able to play again? Is it worth trying to come back? Is my time in baseball done?"
These are questions that I still ask today. And I don't have firm answers. But I have more clarity now than I did a few months ago.
The winds of 2022 have blown me from the depths of the seas to the rocky shores. The winds have lessened. The rain has stopped. And I now find myself in calmer waters.
Life is just... slow.
Because of surgery, I am severely limited in my daily activities. I can't fully work out in the weight room. And I have yet been cleared to throw yet. I have more time on my hands than I know what to do with. Yet, I find myself with a wonderful amount of peace and joy most days.
The future remains wildly unknown, but I have so much to be thankful for.
Seeing my family doesn't require a flight and a full weekend. I can cook for myself again. I get to catch up with my friends more consistently. I wake up in the same bed every morning and go to bed at the same time every night.
It's the little things that sometimes mean so much.
When the waters aren't raging all around me, I'm able to take in the scenery. I have time to reflect on the past few years. I have time to appreciate the wonderful adventure I was just on. And I have time to dream again. To dream about playing. To dream about writing and sharing more with all of you. To dream about getting back on the waters and starting another grand adventure, wherever it may lead me.
