The Hero’s Second Journey

I played defensive tackle for the Cleveland Browns for 12 years, and I had a successful and satisfying career. Through great coaching, my own hard work, and some good fortune, I enjoyed All Pro status, and the fame, money, and trappings that come from playing in the NFL. But then age and injuries took their toll, and I was forced to retire.

Several years into retirement, as I walked down to the mailbox in front of my house, it hit me. Pausing, I looked up into the blue sky and the words came to me, “It’s quiet, and it will never, ever be noisy again.” In a flash I knew that there would be no more clomp, clomp, clomp of teammates’ cleats on wooden planks, echoing in the ancient tunnel as we wound our way together beneath Cleveland Municipal Stadium. An even bigger loss, I would never again hear the incredible roar as I sacked Terry Bradshaw in front of 85,000 frenzied Browns fans. Standing at the end of my driveway on a sunny day, I realized that after all that noise and adrenaline, I was bound to a lifetime of silence.

For months afterward, a sadness steadily grew in me, and I didn’t have any idea of how to begin to pull out of it. Before long, I decided to go back to college and study psychology. My immediate goal would be to untangle Jerry Sherk, to understand better what my NFL career was, and to find why life was now much less fulfilling than I had expected.

In school, I was astounded to find a large body of work called “athletic transition.” Little known to the public, athletic transition is the study of athletes as they make the difficult move from sports to private life. I was well aware that most of us left the game with permanent injuries, but I was surprised when I came upon studies showing that ex-NFL athletes are also pummeled by divorce, financial and career problems, and depression. This research let me know that I was not alone with my sense of emptiness, and that distress in retirement is the norm.

Although the goal of studies on athletic transition is to provide athletes with strategies on how to cope and how to move on, most of what I read failed to hit at the core of my own experience. For high performance athletes, your body and your ability perform literally are you, and when the body disintegrates, so does the ego, and this is truly a kind of death. As an NFL player, you’ve always been able to overcome huge hurdles in your life, but these persistent feelings of loss don’t go away by merely “bearing down and being more aggressive,” the solution that always worked before.

In addition to studying psychology, I tried to make sense of the transition through reading Greek mythology, and this is when things became much more clear. Mythology includes the study of heroes, and to me, being a hero is what being an outstanding athlete is all about. Yes, there is the money, the camaraderie, and the joy of mastering a difficult skill, but it is the fame that makes playing in the NFL different than any other career path. You are constantly looked at (millions on TV, and tens of thousands in the stands) and looked up to. In addition to the roar of the crowd, for 12 years I had parents tell me that they wanted their sons wanted to be like me, and I had young men tell me that they actually wanted to be me.

This being a hero is heady stuff, but the minute your career is over, the fame disappears more rapidly than one could ever imagine. Yesterday’s hero is about as interesting and sought after as last month’s newspaper.

As I studied mythology, and I began to go deeper into the hero aspect, and then I stumbled upon a question that seemed to sum up my situation: “What do you do when you are done being a hero?”

Reading tales like Homer’s Odyssey, I found that the lives of heroes have been described for thousands of years. The goal of a hero is to go from the ordinary world, such as the powerlessness of childhood, to the extraordinary world of, for instance, being a successful NFL player, or fighting the Cyclops. I also became aware of the various stages that act as guideposts along the hero’s path, each informing the traveler of an important aspect of the journey. These include the “call to adventure,” “fear of the call,” “meeting with the mentor,” “atonement,” and “the return.” I knew that “the return” was just another name for “athletic transition.”

Every hero’s journey is circular. In professional sports, because of the constant physical pounding, the body cannot withstand punishment for long and it begins to disintegrate. Soldiers must leave the battlefield, and mountain climbers trek back down Everest’s summit. Likewise, NFL ball players are also required return to the ordinary world. This is no small task for someone with limited life experiences beyond sports, and an inflated ego, and so it takes several years to even to begin to make the return, psychologically.

In my masters program, I read everything I could get my hands on, and I also interviewed ex-athletes from a variety of sports. All the time I was trying to find strategies for “what to do after you are done being a hero.” I know that each individual must find it for him or herself, but I believe it will likely be a version of the two-part answer that, over the years, has became obvious to me.

The first task is to “let go.” At some point you have to realize that you are no longer an NFL football player, and that as painful as it might be, people will never again see you and that same “hero light.” The sooner and more deeply you can let go, the better, as you will be able to move on in your life.

In a way, “letting go” is passive, but there’s a more active task athletes can undertake, and that is to “give back.” Why is this important? Being an athlete is a narcissistic endeavor. Although teamwork is involved, the key to success is to be able to consistently think about your job, your body, and your storyline. Coming out of sports, athletes tend to keep that same focus, but the difference is all these areas of their lives are in chaos. Serving others can be therapeutic as it helps you forget your own pain and misery. When compassion enters, the “poor little me” begins to dissolve, and you lose yourself, in a good way.

After finishing college, I found “youth mentoring” as my way of giving back. Perhaps I chose this route because of all the great coaches and mentors that had a positive influence in my life. Using my background in sports and psychology, I have mentored youth, helped program staff, and trained both mentors and mentees for over 15 years. Although no matter what I do, I know it won’t ring in my ears like the sound of 85,000 screaming fans, but I have found that mentoring creates a purpose, an excitement, and “a positive noise” in my life.

Being involved in mentoring has also helped me to complete the circle, to return to the ordinary world, while using knowledge I gained in the extraordinary world to help others. After all, what does a hero do when returning home from his or her odyssey? They tell stories and help others understand how to navigate the world out there.

I’ve found that the hero’s journey analogy is not just about ex-NFL ball players. It’s for all of us, as we are all the heroes, each one the protagonist of our own stories. If you are living and breathing and have had any success in life, you have also experienced the call to adventure, the fear of the call, the meeting with the mentor, and so forth. Whether in a 10-year span for an athlete; 20 years as a mother; or 30 to 40 years in the arts, trades businesses, or countless other fields; our decades “out there” are time limited. We must all return to the ordinary world by using the keys of letting go and giving back.

For those that have had the experience of striving for success, I’ve come to believe that each must use the silence that comes afterward as motivation for finding a new direction. This involves searching within, and trying to understand what makes noise for you, while at the same time helping others. If this can be done, you’ll able to write a positive chapter in your personal life story, the one with the heading, “How I Made My Return.”