This week will be different. Wednesday (9/17) will mark exactly one year since the freak injury that’s turned my world upside down. With this in mind, we’re breaking away from the usual format. This will forever be a reflective time of year for me so I wanted to bring you along for a deeper dive into the year that almost wasn’t.
For this week’s entry, I’ll be sitting down for an interview with… myself.
“CE1” will be the interviewer. “CE2” will be the interviewee. The questions were actually created by Gemini, my chatbot of choice who knows every aspect of my injury, recovery, and battles over the last year. This one’s going over 1000 words. Buckle up and enjoy.
CE1: “Go back to the first few weeks. We know about the physical pain, but what was the quietest, most terrifying thought that circled in your mind in the middle of the night when the hospital room was dark and you were truly alone?”
CE2: In that first week, specifically, it was the the fact that I might not live to see 33. It was a number that has had incredible significance in my life. My basketball number had always been 33 or some combination of the two numbers. With so much of my foundational life defined by basketball, I had grown attached to the number. It represented a lot of passion and growth in my journey seeing as how basketball took me places I’d only dreamed of growing up. To not reach that “magic number” would’ve been a terrible form of irony.
Yet, 7 days before my 33rd birthday, I was on an operating table fighting for the very life I’d work so hard to build for myself and those around me. I know there’s often a debate around leaving a legacy when we die. For me, my legacy wouldn’t have been and won’t be my accomplishments and accolades. It will be akin to the famous Maya Angelou quote, “I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.” In the future, when my time does ultimately come, I want people to feel me like a core childhood memory that always evokes a certain type of visceral nostalgia. That’s what I feared the most. That I hadn’t done enough to impact people in a way that’d result in them feeling as though I’d always be with them and a part of their journey.
CE1: "For decades, your identity was built on physical mastery. Describe the specific moment you mourned the loss of the "old Chris"—the athlete, the one who could always rely on his body. What did that grief feel like?
CE2: The first night after the surgery after the fentanyl and morphine had worn off was when this particular moment hit me. As I read the surgical reports and spoke with all 4 doctors who had operated on me, the new reality set in. I’d never be the same person I was just 24 hours prior. There were going to be both long-term and lifelong implications for my body. It was the first moment in my life in which I had ever asked myself, “The body can be fixed, but can the mind?” I’d recovered from broken bones, ligament sprains and tears… but my mind had been broken for the first time.
That is a feeling I hope most people don’t ever have to experience. It’s deeper than “grief” and I can’t really explain how. I go back and watch videos that I recorded in the days after surgery and I don’t even recognize myself. The “light” that so many people had associated with me was not there. My eyes looked soulless, as if I was just a shell of the confident man I was the day prior. I remember thinking, “These scars and wounds will fade, but how the hell do I get the feeling of being ‘alive’ back?” It took about 3 months before I finally started to feel a flicker of confidence in my new body.
CE1: We've read about the "Weekly Wins." Can you describe the mental and emotional texture of a "Weekly Wobble" at its worst? What did a moment of true despair feel like?
CE2: It’s like having an episode of sleep paralysis. As you lie awake in your bed, staring off into the dark corner of a room, you begin to see a shadowy figure staring back at you. Inherently, you know you need to get up to run. But you can’t; you’re stuck. Those feelings of helplessness, isolation, and despair are as dark as the room you’re laying in. In that moment, you have no choice but to face your “monster” in the corner.
For me, that monster was a projection of every complication surgeons said could come my way over the first few days. Due to the nerve damage, I couldn’t feel my shin, ankle, or the top of my foot (and still can’t). Therefore, if my foot felt too cold, I’d immediately press the large, red “HELP” button on my hospital bed just to have a nurse come make sure there was a pulse and it felt warm to the touch. I’m sure they were tired of me by day three, but I couldn’t help it. It was the first time in decades I felt frightened because of something that was not in my control. I was at the mercy of time, science, and a half-restored* faith in religion/spirituality.
*Much to the dismay of my parents, I often identified as an agnostic for most of my adult life up until this point. But after seeing how certain aspects of this scenario played out and lined up way too perfectly, a sense of religious/spiritual belief has been restored. I’d say I’m about 50/50 nowadays. For all my religious friends and family who read this, thank you for all the prayers.
CE1: A crisis doesn't just test you; it tests everyone around you. Without naming names, how did this year change your understanding of love and support? What is the tangible difference between someone who "checks in" versus someone who truly "shows up"?
CE2: I’m very lucky to have a lot of great friends around me. Without them, this climb back to normalcy would’ve been a lot more difficult. These people deserve their flowers for staying in the car as we commuted through “hell” together. For the sake of the question, I’ve gotta give podium-status awards to my parents and my supportive girlfriend. They’ve seen me at my best and have also had to deal with me at my worst. When you’re high on meds and just irritable from all the pain, you’re not going to be yourself. Unlike those Snickers ads, I couldn’t just eat some candy to feel like myself again. I had to rebuild from the ground up and fortunately, my three “medalists” were there to help me pick up the pieces.
On a larger scale, my friends outside of those three are exceptional. I don’t do transactional relationships and friendships. I have a fundamental belief that if you invest in people, not things, it will come back to you tenfold when you need it the most. I’ve never expected monetary returns from my “investments.” Anyone close to me that I’ve helped will tell you that I always ask for one thing… “Pay it forward and invest in someone else when it’s your turn.”
This recovery process was evidence of that. Most of the people I genuinely cared about and wanted to see win were there for me and expected nothing in return. That feeling of love and support definitely helped me defeat the “monster in the corner.” And over time, it eventually vanished and turned into light that illuminated the recovery path forward.
CE1: Before the injury, what was your relationship with the concept of "control"? How has being forced to surrender control for an entire year fundamentally rewired your approach to your life, your business, and your future?
CE2: It was a one-way relationship because I was always the one in “control” of most situations. I had been essentially “out in the world” since 17 years old. I went to college, then played professional basketball in Europe and Asia. My independence was the copilot to my control. I felt most in control when I could come and go as I pleased. To have that taken away by pure astronomical, mathematical chance was jarring.
Let’s call a spade a spade. When you go from partying on Bali beaches or watching people break dance beneath the Eiffel Tower to not being able to stand or relying on nurses to wipe you after bathroom episodes… it will fuck with you. And it did. HEAVILY. It was an emasculating experience, but you know what? It gave me a greater appreciation for the front-line workers and caregivers who commit to a life of servitude. In addition to that gratitude, I learned that surrendering doesn’t have to be a bad thing. It goes hand-in-hand with acceptance, which I often discuss with clients struggling with transitions of their own. Once you can embrace acceptance (sometimes disguised as surrender), you realize that life, business, or your relationships don’t have to be difficult. It’s when we try to bend the universe to our will, that we often end up breaking apart from the very things that are trying to help us.
CE1: Let's talk about the idea of a "silver lining." Many people look for one immediately. When were you finally able, in your heart, to see this ordeal not as a tragedy, but as a necessary chapter, and what did that moment of true acceptance feel like?
CE2: I first saw this as an opportunity in March of this year. 6 months post-injury, I joined a personal brand cohort called Archimedes. The goal was to improve my personal brand through social media. Upon joining, I learned the technical aspects of storytelling. With the newfound tools, I started building something completely different than I had felt before. The story of “retired athlete struggles to find identity after retirement” is as old as sports themselves. However, this story provided something much bigger than identity crisis. It provided countless lessons (what I know call the “blueprint”) for navigating life’s biggest transitions.
The ironic thing here is that if I hadn’t sustained my injury, I would’ve found myself in another tech job doing something that truly didn’t feel “me.” Nowadays, I tell people that this ordeal was the worst thing for me physically, but the best thing for me mentally. How? Because now since I’ve essentially built a blueprint to get through one of the darkest chapters of my life, I can share it with others via my workshops and speaking engagements. It’d be extremely selfish, and lonely, to have grown through this experience and NOT share what I’ve learned. When I realized that I had survived something so transformational, I knew I had to use it to help others through their own journeys… so I started doing just that.
CE1: If the last year was a crucible that forged a new version of you, what is the single most important characteristic of that new self? And what is the one thing about your old self that you were forced to leave behind in the fire?
CE2: Acceptance. I know it sounds cheesy, it’s the truth. On the morning of 9/17/2024, I was fresh out of a barber chair. Confident, a bit arrogant, and had a “I’m going to live my life like this and I don’t need anyone to slow me down” mentality. 12 hours later, I realized how much I was wrong. 120 hours later, I realized that we all need people who are willing to show up with headlamps to dig you out of a pitfall when you can’t get yourself out.
I’ll leave you with one metaphor that came up this week. While speaking with a friend about snowboarding, we got on the topic of hitting the backcountry slopes. Now, the “beauty” of these particular routes is that they are often empty because they aren’t open to the public. Conversely, the “beast” of these routes is that they are not maintained and are extremely dangerous to skiers and snowboarders. The most advanced athletes hit these routes because they are capable and love the challenge of uncharted territory. Yet, they never go alone. Why?
Avalanches. Sometimes shit just happens and it’s not up to us. We may not be in control of the circumstances such as nature or physics, but we are in control of ACCEPTING help from someone or some people with us who could potentially save our lives. Don’t let your ego be your downfall. This is your warning from someone who’s been buried… and would’ve never made it out alive without the help of those closest to me.
Hope you enjoyed this one. Have a great week, y’all 🏁