Perseverance vs. Stubbornness
I do not talk about coaching, specifically my career with many people outside of other coaches. This might surprise you since you're reading this post, and following this blog which is all about coaching. But you'll notice that there's a lack of personal information about my career beyond where I've been, and where I may currently be coaching.
My choice to go into coaching has not been well supported since it began in 2004. It took many years for those in my personal circles to come to understand that this wasn't a hobby, or a way to avoid finding what they termed, "real work." This was and has been a passion of mine going back to when I coached my first team in high school. Kick and chase soccer remains my favorite thing to coach because the results don't matter, formations don't matter, positions don't matter. All that matters is having fun, learning a bit about teamwork and settling minor disputes, and who brought what for snacks.
My brother has been most vocal in...critiquing my career. There is simply no pleasing him regardless of what I do. That sounds cliched, and it is because it fits with any story told by anyone who has a loved one overly concerned for their well being. Too focused on the career means I'm neglecting my personal life. A foray into establishing a personal life leads to questions of how this might impact my career. The lack of full-time positions lead to questions of money, and what to do in the future, while any ideas of moving on lead to questions about where my passion and perseverance have gone. He's my brother, he truly cares, it can be a burden.
Recently I spoke with one of my mentors turned friends who happens to be the athletic director at a large university. They have been one of my strongest advocates, and have pushed those in the business they know to give me a chance at a position. When we last spoke, I mentioned that I was in the process of sorting through whether or not to continue on as a coach, and they told me that regardless of what I choose to do, they have always admired my perseverance, and dedication to trying to make this a full-time job.
When I got into coaching, I had no idea how long I'd stay in the game, or any plans for moving upward. I originally got into coaching because I disagreed with some of the training plans that my program was running, and I wanted to see if the ideas I had were any good. At most I figured I'd coach till I was 25 or so - I was 21 at the time - and then move on to something else. I'd always had a love/hate relationship with rowing, loving the sport and the tradition, but not always being a fan of my program, or the way that rowing dominated my collegiate life. While friends went on spring break trips, I went on training trips. While my fraternity had social gatherings or parties on the weekends, I was driving around in a large box van, attempting to avoid the delicious bagels, and racing. My senior year was much more successful than I deserved given the effort, or truly the lack of effort I put in, and the only reason I stayed was because I knew that I would go into coaching, and felt that three varsity letters looked better than two. That is some rather serious candor.
And then, the worst thing happened, and I fell in love with the sport. I landed at the perfect program to begin my career, working with a former national team and two-time Olympian who showed me what rowing could look like, and what coaching could be. I was at a very supportive program with an invested, but not micromanaging board many of whom went out of their way to make sure that my own transition to living in San Francisco was as easy as possible including finding me a cheap apartment, and helping with employment.
I had way more success my first three years as a coach than I had any right to expect, going to Youth Nationals, and then the NCAA National Championships.
I learned many important lessons along the way, and began to believe that I could one day become a head coach. My dream was to become a Division One head coach, some day work with the national team, and go to the Olympics, and I felt that the beginning of my career pointed toward some day achieving that. All it required was dedication to honing my craft, and a willingness to work and to not turn my nose up at jobs that were not necessarily in the limelight.
I got into coaching not knowing anything about coaching other than coming from a Division III background might hinder me, and that being a coxswain rather than a rower might present an obstacle. But beyond that I didn't know what to do. So I began to network, and I was told to do several things.
1. Gain as much competitive experience as possible.
2. Get to a collegiate program, preferably at the level you hope to coach at.
3. Coach some boats to notable finishes aka, be successful.
4. Get an advanced degree because it will set you apart.
5. Network.
6. Work for the national team, any level.
7. Chase the jobs while you're young, and unattached.
And so I set out to accomplish those things, and over the course of several years, did. I moved a couple of times, I worked long hours to make ends meet, I took on secondary jobs that I never want to do again - retail is awful - and while I generally had no idea what I was doing, I felt that I was heading the right direction.
In 2015, I thought I'd put the final piece in place to open a new door. I'd earned my masters from the University of Washington. I'd interned with a Division I program, and gotten glowing recommendations/support from the staff. I'd even coached the 3V8 to a 4th place finish at conference. I felt as though I'd finally arrived and that now, with all of that on my resume, I could get my foot in the door for second or third assistant jobs at a Division I program, or even a head coaching position with a Division II or Division III program.
And then it didn't happen. And didn't happen. And didn't happen. I felt good about getting opportunities to interview for Division I jobs and Division III head coaching positions, but continued to fall short.
And that, combined with last year, has landed me here. In the last two to three years, I've begun looking outside of coaching. The idea that now is perhaps the time to move on and put the experience I've gained managing programs, budgeting, etc. to use in an athletics department has gained serious traction, especially over the last 18 months.
Which brings us to the title of the post, and the conversation I had with my mentor.
When does perseverance go from an admirable quality to stubbornness or a failure to recognize the writing on the wall?
I've been told that optics play a large role in deciding who gets a job and who doesn't, and there's not much you're able to do about that. But because optics is something beyond my control, it's an annoyance, but also not worth getting upset over. Because I can't necessarily change the view or optics that a program or university is going for. My general modus operandi has been to go out and get more experience, and meet more people who might be able to pull some more strings.
But lately that has felt more like a pipe dream, and more along the line of being stubborn rather than simply being something you have to work through. The end of the tunnel I thought I was close to in 2015 doesn't seem to be any closer now than did then. In many ways it seems further off because of the amount of experience I've got, and because I am getting older. My fear is that both of those combined read as someone overqualified for most positions or as someone who might not be willing to stay at a program and would instead be looking to springboard into their own program.
That's an ironic belief since I am, because of growing older, looking for programs I can settle down with and not have to chase year after year. As fun as cross country flights are, applying to jobs each summer has lost its charm, if it ever had it.
So as the clock rolls toward 2019, I am at a crossroad, and while I normally write a pro/con list, in this case, it's not helping.
For the first time in my career, I am a Division I assistant coach. I am not paid, but the university has made it official. That title has never been on my resume, and there is a chance that this could push my current resume over that hill that I've been struggling up. The years of experience, combined with this position could make more attractive and does satisfy the desire for, "Previous Division One recruiting experience."
The other side of that coin is the belief that nothing on the resume will change anything going forward unless it says something along the lines of, "Coached World/Olympic Champion." There is a strong belief that this summer will be exactly the same as every other summer I've chased a full-time position. I've used that motivation or carrot of, "This COULD be the summer..." for so long that the fear I have is I'll wake up one day, be in my 60's and still have that mantra in the back of my mind. I've also grown to love the PNW, something that as a California kid, Southern California even, I swore would never happen. I love Portland and the surrounding area, and could be happy starting the career I want outside of coaching right here.
And then the final coin flip back to the other side is that I was born coach, I love it, and I don't believe I'll get the same level of satisfaction out of any other job.
Basically, I've turned in circles at the crossroad with both paths offering something satisfying, and both feeling that they lack the total satisfaction the other has. I feel that I can make a difference in the lives of the athletes as a coach. I feel that I'd like to not live paycheck to paycheck and start enjoying a quality of life the rest of my friends, and brother, enjoy. I need a new car, and I'd like to start contributing to my retirement fund more than I have. But I also love those quiet moments on the water, or the sunset rows, or the moments when an athlete and the technical side click.
My choice to go into coaching has not been well supported since it began in 2004. It took many years for those in my personal circles to come to understand that this wasn't a hobby, or a way to avoid finding what they termed, "real work." This was and has been a passion of mine going back to when I coached my first team in high school. Kick and chase soccer remains my favorite thing to coach because the results don't matter, formations don't matter, positions don't matter. All that matters is having fun, learning a bit about teamwork and settling minor disputes, and who brought what for snacks.
My brother has been most vocal in...critiquing my career. There is simply no pleasing him regardless of what I do. That sounds cliched, and it is because it fits with any story told by anyone who has a loved one overly concerned for their well being. Too focused on the career means I'm neglecting my personal life. A foray into establishing a personal life leads to questions of how this might impact my career. The lack of full-time positions lead to questions of money, and what to do in the future, while any ideas of moving on lead to questions about where my passion and perseverance have gone. He's my brother, he truly cares, it can be a burden.
Recently I spoke with one of my mentors turned friends who happens to be the athletic director at a large university. They have been one of my strongest advocates, and have pushed those in the business they know to give me a chance at a position. When we last spoke, I mentioned that I was in the process of sorting through whether or not to continue on as a coach, and they told me that regardless of what I choose to do, they have always admired my perseverance, and dedication to trying to make this a full-time job.
When I got into coaching, I had no idea how long I'd stay in the game, or any plans for moving upward. I originally got into coaching because I disagreed with some of the training plans that my program was running, and I wanted to see if the ideas I had were any good. At most I figured I'd coach till I was 25 or so - I was 21 at the time - and then move on to something else. I'd always had a love/hate relationship with rowing, loving the sport and the tradition, but not always being a fan of my program, or the way that rowing dominated my collegiate life. While friends went on spring break trips, I went on training trips. While my fraternity had social gatherings or parties on the weekends, I was driving around in a large box van, attempting to avoid the delicious bagels, and racing. My senior year was much more successful than I deserved given the effort, or truly the lack of effort I put in, and the only reason I stayed was because I knew that I would go into coaching, and felt that three varsity letters looked better than two. That is some rather serious candor.
And then, the worst thing happened, and I fell in love with the sport. I landed at the perfect program to begin my career, working with a former national team and two-time Olympian who showed me what rowing could look like, and what coaching could be. I was at a very supportive program with an invested, but not micromanaging board many of whom went out of their way to make sure that my own transition to living in San Francisco was as easy as possible including finding me a cheap apartment, and helping with employment.
I had way more success my first three years as a coach than I had any right to expect, going to Youth Nationals, and then the NCAA National Championships.
I learned many important lessons along the way, and began to believe that I could one day become a head coach. My dream was to become a Division One head coach, some day work with the national team, and go to the Olympics, and I felt that the beginning of my career pointed toward some day achieving that. All it required was dedication to honing my craft, and a willingness to work and to not turn my nose up at jobs that were not necessarily in the limelight.
I got into coaching not knowing anything about coaching other than coming from a Division III background might hinder me, and that being a coxswain rather than a rower might present an obstacle. But beyond that I didn't know what to do. So I began to network, and I was told to do several things.
1. Gain as much competitive experience as possible.
2. Get to a collegiate program, preferably at the level you hope to coach at.
3. Coach some boats to notable finishes aka, be successful.
4. Get an advanced degree because it will set you apart.
5. Network.
6. Work for the national team, any level.
7. Chase the jobs while you're young, and unattached.
And so I set out to accomplish those things, and over the course of several years, did. I moved a couple of times, I worked long hours to make ends meet, I took on secondary jobs that I never want to do again - retail is awful - and while I generally had no idea what I was doing, I felt that I was heading the right direction.
In 2015, I thought I'd put the final piece in place to open a new door. I'd earned my masters from the University of Washington. I'd interned with a Division I program, and gotten glowing recommendations/support from the staff. I'd even coached the 3V8 to a 4th place finish at conference. I felt as though I'd finally arrived and that now, with all of that on my resume, I could get my foot in the door for second or third assistant jobs at a Division I program, or even a head coaching position with a Division II or Division III program.
And then it didn't happen. And didn't happen. And didn't happen. I felt good about getting opportunities to interview for Division I jobs and Division III head coaching positions, but continued to fall short.
And that, combined with last year, has landed me here. In the last two to three years, I've begun looking outside of coaching. The idea that now is perhaps the time to move on and put the experience I've gained managing programs, budgeting, etc. to use in an athletics department has gained serious traction, especially over the last 18 months.
Which brings us to the title of the post, and the conversation I had with my mentor.
When does perseverance go from an admirable quality to stubbornness or a failure to recognize the writing on the wall?
I've been told that optics play a large role in deciding who gets a job and who doesn't, and there's not much you're able to do about that. But because optics is something beyond my control, it's an annoyance, but also not worth getting upset over. Because I can't necessarily change the view or optics that a program or university is going for. My general modus operandi has been to go out and get more experience, and meet more people who might be able to pull some more strings.
But lately that has felt more like a pipe dream, and more along the line of being stubborn rather than simply being something you have to work through. The end of the tunnel I thought I was close to in 2015 doesn't seem to be any closer now than did then. In many ways it seems further off because of the amount of experience I've got, and because I am getting older. My fear is that both of those combined read as someone overqualified for most positions or as someone who might not be willing to stay at a program and would instead be looking to springboard into their own program.
That's an ironic belief since I am, because of growing older, looking for programs I can settle down with and not have to chase year after year. As fun as cross country flights are, applying to jobs each summer has lost its charm, if it ever had it.
So as the clock rolls toward 2019, I am at a crossroad, and while I normally write a pro/con list, in this case, it's not helping.
For the first time in my career, I am a Division I assistant coach. I am not paid, but the university has made it official. That title has never been on my resume, and there is a chance that this could push my current resume over that hill that I've been struggling up. The years of experience, combined with this position could make more attractive and does satisfy the desire for, "Previous Division One recruiting experience."
The other side of that coin is the belief that nothing on the resume will change anything going forward unless it says something along the lines of, "Coached World/Olympic Champion." There is a strong belief that this summer will be exactly the same as every other summer I've chased a full-time position. I've used that motivation or carrot of, "This COULD be the summer..." for so long that the fear I have is I'll wake up one day, be in my 60's and still have that mantra in the back of my mind. I've also grown to love the PNW, something that as a California kid, Southern California even, I swore would never happen. I love Portland and the surrounding area, and could be happy starting the career I want outside of coaching right here.
And then the final coin flip back to the other side is that I was born coach, I love it, and I don't believe I'll get the same level of satisfaction out of any other job.
Basically, I've turned in circles at the crossroad with both paths offering something satisfying, and both feeling that they lack the total satisfaction the other has. I feel that I can make a difference in the lives of the athletes as a coach. I feel that I'd like to not live paycheck to paycheck and start enjoying a quality of life the rest of my friends, and brother, enjoy. I need a new car, and I'd like to start contributing to my retirement fund more than I have. But I also love those quiet moments on the water, or the sunset rows, or the moments when an athlete and the technical side click.
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