“Used To”

What separates duties and responsibilities from hobbies or passions is the freedom to choose why you do them. For some of us, we are fortunate enough to have our passions align with our work. In that case, both the fulfillment of the things that are required of you, as well as the things that you hope and strive for are met with the same means. Make no mistake – this is a rare condition and one that should be sought out and treasured if achieved, or even stumbled upon.

The reality is, most of us won’t find this particular synergy in our lifetime. Your work, or your profession will most often have a “why” assigned to it automatically. Work provides food, shelter, status, and other necessities. This amazing age we live in, however, offers unprecedented opportunities to find new hobbies, interests or passions. We have more ways to find people in similar pursuits and learn from them than ever before in human history. There has never been a better time to try things out than now.

Once you try enough things out, odds are that you are going to find one that really lights a fire under you. One that motivates you work harder, train more intently, pay more attention, and branch out like never before. This is passion in its infancy. That inexplicable drive to get better at something, despite there being discernible or tangible benefit, is a spark that has to be nurtured into a flame. Whether or not that flame burns for a lifetime; Who knows? But it would be shame to see it neglected and extinguished before you get a chance to see how bright and long it can burn.

I didn’t immediately suck at it…

This is what the Highland Games gave to me nearly ten years ago. I was in limbo as far as my professional and athletic pursuits. We had recently moved across the country and, in doing so, I left behind an office job I despised. I had committed myself to pursuing every entrepreneurial opportunity that came my way, but I was so early on in that process that success of any kind eluded me. I had been a fencer since college, and I had achieved more than I expected. I started to age out of the sport, however, and if I am totally honest, I had reached the end of my talent. So I was in one of my phases where I decide to try any and everything. I had been lifting seriously for a few years, so I had dabbled in powerlifting and strongman. Not a lot of success there. Apparently you need to be strong. On a whim, I decided to try my hand at the Highland Games with no previous experience in throwing heavy stuff. I played baseball up through high school (I was a pitcher) so throwing wasn’t totally foreign to me. Doing it in a kilt with rocks, hunks of steel, and logs was pretty foreign, though.

I didn’t immediately suck at it. I mean, I sucked, but not as much as other people that tried it for the first time. That was enough for a spark. I competed twice in as many weekends. I was hooked. I spent the entire off-season lifting with renewed focus, and throwing like crazy. My first games of that next season, I blew away a B class group and graduated to the Amateur A class. Now I had a flame going.

I battled with my demons…

All these years later, after wins, losses, embarrassments, good times and amazing friendships, I still have a fire burning for the Highland Games. I would be lying to you though, if I said that the flame burned as intensely in the past couple of years. After winning a National Championship in 2016, life got progressively more busy. Some of my entrepreneurial gambles had paid off, and now I had created actual jobs for myself. When I started throwing, we had a toddler. By the end of 2016, we had three children, one of them a newborn. My dad died, and that tipped the first domino into depression. I battled with my demons on and off for 18 months, and finally came out the other side a better and stronger person. A better husband, father, and friend. That project brought me a lot more satisfaction and fulfilment than throwing.

I have always remained active in the Highland Games community, regardless of what my personal level of commitment to competing is. I have thrown in competition here and there, and I still coach athletes of all levels. When it’s all said and done, in fact, coaching for the games may be my true purpose in finding the sport. I started the company Throw Bros. with my best friend as a way to give back to the games and supply throwers with what they need. This sport has notoriously hard-to-find gear and supplies, and we are trying to remove the barriers to people getting on the field and enjoying this ridiculous sport we love. This sport and the people in it have given me so much. It’s now my responsibility, and my duty to stay engaged and do what I can to help it thrive. I had more or less written off the idea that I would have any sort of “career” as a thrower from this point forward. I was happy being in a support role. Many of my friends are professional Highland Games athletes now, so I love coaching and supporting them as they go out there and bring this sport to new fans. I was generally happy with where I had landed.

Until my son’s writing project. He is 10 years old. To practice for one of the many, many, standardized tests that elementary school kids have to endure, he had to write an expository piece. The theme was to write about a profession, job, or role that the reader may not know about. He chose “Highland Games Thrower.”

I hadn’t really thought of myself as the guy who “used to” yet…

He is my oldest. He was the toddler I mentioned when I first started throwing. He is actually the only one of my kids that has any memory of me throwing in competition. He has competed in kids games, worn a kilt, and seen his share of Celtic Festivals. He has certainly thrown his share of axes. He screamed in celebration over the phone when I won the National Championship. Most recently, he traveled with me to North Carolina to support his Uncle Aaron, and got to sit in the athlete tent with me and the pro class and listen to us trash talk and throw jokes around. Still, it’s not like he talks about the games nonstop or anything. I just figured that he enjoyed those things in the moment, but otherwise just chalked it up to “that thing dad does,” and for that reason would be added to the list of Stuff That’s Lame as he grew older.

“You’re probably wondering what a Highland Games Thrower is. I want to be a Highland Games thrower when I grow up. It will be fun, festive, and entertaining.”

As I read, I was obviously hooked. It was starting to hit me that maybe all those memories were more prominent than I gave them credit for. At the very least, my boy had seen some pretty unique stuff that gave him a chance to write a piece that would stand out.

“The reason I want to be a Highland Games thrower is because that’s what my dad does for some of his time.”

Shut up. YOU’RE crying.

“He used to do Highland Games more often, but now he does computer work for the Highland Games.”

That was a rollercoaster of a sentence for me. “Used to” hit like a ton of bricks because I guess I hadn’t really thought of myself as the guy who “used to” yet. The “computer work” thing is hilarious though.

I didn’t realize that my silly hobby had actually made an impact. I didn’t realize that some little spark I had fanned into a flame was visible to someone else. Why wouldn’t it, though? Why wouldn’t the light and heat be most apparent to someone close to you? I don’t think my son is going to grow up to be a Pro Highland Gamer. Maybe one day he will compete as an adult, on a whim. Honestly, that doesn’t matter a great deal to me. I want him to be happy and successful regardless of his path. What does matter is that he got to see me grow a passion. He was there for every step. Even though there is a lot of life in between those moments, he stored away these little memories that he can use to paint a picture now. Even in his “computer work” comment, there is an implied understanding that I have turned this hobby into a sort of profession. I can use the Highland Games to fulfill responsibilities as well as pursue a passion.

I don’t think it’s time for me to be the guy who “used to.” I think it’s time to get out on the field and fan the flames some more. Someone is watching, as it turns out. My “why” is clearer than ever.

See you on the field.