Why I care about endings
I played defensive end at the University of Nevada. For years, football was the answer to every question about who I was. Then it was over, and nobody hands you a playbook for that part.
By my senior year, I was a starter, and we opened up on ABC television at Nebraska. When I was a kid growing up in the ’90s, Nebraska football was untouchable. Now I was on their field, the “Sea of Red,” listening to the crowd’s deafening roar and hearing my name over the loudspeaker in front of ninety thousand fans. Coach Ault came by and looked me dead in the eye: “It’s your time, Dixon!” We lost, but it was still a dream come true. My body was beat, but my soul was alive. It was the highest high I had ever felt. But moments like that made it even harder to accept the end.
It’s often said that athletes die twice. I remember walking off the field after the last game of my college career thinking, I’m done. Now what? When my helmet came off, I felt like I’d died. For the next three years, I struggled in all areas of life. Relationships were ruined. I bounced around to different jobs. I no longer had a coach to point me toward a goal. I wasn’t even sure what the goal was.
It took me years to learn that what I missed wasn't the game. It was the team, the purpose, and knowing exactly what I was supposed to do tomorrow.
Years later I sat across the table from business owners on closing day and saw the same look on their faces. Different uniform, same feeling. That's why I do this work.
