Edit note: I
have been at this blog for three years, one in which I posted nothing if I
recall correctly. With each post I forgot more and more how public of a setting
blogs are and for the most part, I allow you great insight into my daily,
weekly, or monthly doings. I give you jokes, show I’m still concussed, thank various
people, give Ste and Mack shout outs for fun, and allow you about a surface’s
glow of my life. That in turn is read each day by anywhere from two people to
sixty (on a good day). I say it averages out at around eight or nine. So for
those who like a bit of a read, let’s have a heart-to-heart chat.
Over the last few months, I’ve noticed a reoccurring or
reinforced theme that I never paid much attention to as I never felt the need
to, but it is time to at least acknowledge it. There is one attribute it seems people
most commonly associate with me: humbleness. [Sentence two already kinda ruins that by talking about it, right? Heh...
classic] Honestly, I struggle figuring out how someone may arrive at that
conclusion because I’m just Allen—and I’m not even sure what that means—but it
got me thinking what could possibly make someone think that? I ask myself, how
can one be deemed humble when his daily competitive drive borders on excessive?
Where, being first to the door just to open it is seen as a victory. Where,
missing a jump shot of a crumpled-up piece of paper thrown at a bin isn’t
acceptable until it goes in, even if I have to reluctantly call “bank”. Where, I’ll jump up
and celebrate touchdowns or goals scored by video game characters as if they really happened [Let’s be honest they really
did happen; I’ma seven time National Champion in my career on NCAA Football 14].
Where, having a friend who likes Duke is virtually impossible. Where, a short
conversation about the weather turns into a longer one with me trying to prove
I can be arrogant.
I guess what I’m searching for is, how does "humble" find
motivation that isn’t propelled solely by arrogance? Is it how I interpret it?
Or is it even possible at all? [If you’re
looking for answers to any questions, I’m sorry to disappoint, but I probably
won’t arrive at any, but bear with me…]
As a young Allen (age 5-14), I look back thinking I
must’ve been one arrogant S.O.B., and really, I still think I am. I was that guy. I loved gym class. I loved recess.
[Both quite religiously – Oxford 1.2 (n): a
pursuit or interest followed with great devotion] And I treated both like
Game 7. I think my teachers expected it, albeit with the exclusion of New Garden
where my ultra-competitive personality of, “run up the score, take no mercy” didn’t fully fit
their belief system. Everywhere else liked the enthusiasm, a sort of drive to exceed expectation. I would run over anyone who stepped in my way—as a kid, and still, I wasn’t the biggest
or strongest, but I always sacrificed my body for the team. On the playground we
never kept score, but I did and it meant something to me... [Jokes, I wasn’t that ridiculous, but I’d like to make you believe I
was for the purpose of this post] I played everything I could: hockey
(ice), basketball, lacrosse, European football, ran cross-country, baseball (I
sucked), and tennis. Being active, being competitive was a year-round gig, and
I loved it. [At night, I would act out
scenes in my head of the perfect moment, the perfect play; we’ve all done it]
Now, I just joke about it. I laugh about it. I
exaggerate about it. I spout crazy phrases like, “Oh, I always win”, or “It can’t
be taught”, and “Been winning since birth”. At 23, that same intensity is still
there. I love retweeting Jay Bilas’ “I gotta go to work” tweets, I like
chatting total crap in conversations for fun that’ll leave you confused, and I
get hype seeing motivational memes. One of Young Jeezy's best lines is from Ballin' and I repeat it constantly: "Summer's mine, winter too / I'm poppin' bottles in the club, that's what winners do". All of these things are red flags as to why it’s hard
to believe I’m the slightest bit humble. I like to think I’m sort of separating two Allens, as it
were. Yet even then, most still say they see that humble nature written across
both. [I can’t escape it. Maybe there is
just one Allen?]
Sometime back in June, I was trying to explain a game that
Metros played against Flintshire Phantoms to a hockey friend who plays for Hull
University, a certain Beth Davis (also my NHL14 opponent), where I had offensively put in a decent performance
[Cough 6g, 3a. *arrogance chuckle*],
but my defensive efforts were quite poor and really could’ve cost us the game. We
ended up winning the game 9-8, yet my characterisation of me playing “alright”
was met by Beth with a resounding, “I would be bragging to everybody if I had
scored six goals. The day I get my first hat trick you aren’t going to hear the
end of it.” [Beth’s arrogance gets quite
nasty, that’s why I have to beat her comprehensively at NHL14]
Now, I like to consider myself humbly arrogant. I do brag,
but I don’t brag to elevate myself above anyone else. I like celebrating goals,
I like chirping at opponents, and I feel a rush of excitement when something
goes right. Whilst venting in an attempt to write this post, my habit was
described as such: “Its weird, you immediately try and downplay whatever
accomplishment it may be.” I think it’s because I don’t do thing things for
accolades ; for titles ; or for some monetary gain [Although money is nice, I can spend it on food]. I do what is required
without hesitation because I enjoy what I do—playing sports, writing, being there to listen, et cetera;
I do what I do because people deserve it. I come across individuals who I know
I’d go full lengths for an infinite amount of times because they are unique,
special, or unlike anyone I've ever met before. At the end of the day, I know there is always something
bigger. One of my teammates always asks me, “How many tonight, Gunns?” and I
shrug my shoulders. It never mattered [Getting
off the ice in one piece at the end of the game is all that matters, even if
hospital needs to stitch me back that’s fair]. I don’t measure success as a
certain number goals scored or awards received. I see it as the number of individuals
who can benefit—especially in life. That’s what is most important. Everyone else
is before self because I believe there are individuals who are worth it, and
always will be.
What New Garden did teach me as a student that I often avoid even considering was to value people from all walks of life, to be courageous in standing up for what I believed in, and to become a member of a larger community. All of this was added to what my parents always taught me. Whilst my one year of education at Greensboro Day School was world class, it was the first time I really had to consider all three of the things NG had taught me.
Minor arrogant anecdote: My youth sports career consisted of consistently
making teams. Maybe that swelled my head up a bit? I was in 6th
grade when I found myself not making two teams in the same week [MassConn and Junior Indians. The background
of my laptop was a MassConn logo, I was deadest on it. I knew people that
played there already, it was set in stone, you couldn’t have written it better].
I had one last try out with Western Mass Blades that week. My mother mentioned
I didn’t have to go if I didn’t want to. That wasn’t going to happen. I don’t give
up on myself. More importantly, I don’t give up on anyone else. Not making either of those teams was
probably the greatest thing to happen to me and I’m not sure why. They tell you
right after the last session whose made the team. It’s posted outside the
locker. And to be quite honest, they typically know who is going to be on the
team long before the first session.
What does this moment have to do with anything? With
life? With sport? With how I carry myself? I realised there were always going
to be greater opportunities. That missing out on some was never going to be the end of the
world. That sport was never going to be of greater importance than life [It sounds dumb to have to say, but you try
and tell a 13 year old to not to put all his eggs in the professional athlete
basket, he/she won’t listen. It’s why we wake up at 5 in the morning on a
Sunday]. Looking back, I know for a fact I could tell you more of what happened away from
the rink with my friends than actually at it – I don't remember scores, or individual goals. What springs to mind is an away
weekend back in 2003. The team was out at the cinema seeing The Last Samurai. Jon MacEldowney lost
it when… well that’s neither here nor there.
My brother is larger-than-life individual. It is well
documented that he’s a tank surrounded by a brick wall and an atomic bomb
shelter [And apparently the same height
as me, I don’t know what happened to that 1/8 inch of me being taller].
But that’s not why I look up to him for motivation, or for a reflection why I
put so much effort into my own passions. I look up to him because no matter how
many times life tried to bring him down he didn’t let it. He pressed on. He found firefighting [Solo nozzle man]. Under Armour couldn't miss him.
In any case, seeing those you love and care for
struggle. That moulds you. You learn to sparingly pick and choose your own achievements to celebrate and rather, in your eyes, everyone else elevates to an incomparable importance.
Anecdote 1: I remember as junior in high school, my friend Carlos Montes de Oca came up to and said, "Allen, I gotta see my girlfriend. Will you drive me?" [We had some random Tuesday off in November? This, all granted his girlfriend was at university in Rhode Island, a cool 1 1/2 hours from Westfield] So I did. Whilst I "slept over at his house", I drove him to RI. I slept on a pink shag run in some dorm with my hoodie as both my pillow and blanket, for him. Little did I know, that would be our last adventure together. And this is the first time my parents will ever hear of this, if they read this of course. I would do it again in a heartbeat.
Anecdote 2: My brother and I both love speeches, though I’ve never
fancied myself a public speaker. I’m too shy. I don’t like the spotlight. I don’t
like the credit. I’m okay just replaying the words of great speeches in films:
the Rocky series, Miracle, The Shawshank
Redemption, Any Given Sunday, Friday Night Lights, The Great Dictator, and
so on. They motivated me, whether fictionalised or true, whether hollow or full
[My brother and I watch the Any Given
Sunday speech on repeat as you probably know by now]. From there, my
interest as a writer grew as I learnt of Jon Favreau success as President Obama’s
speechwriter. As a writer, I could sit behind the words, rather than in front of
them. I could shape them the way I pleased.
[A skewed linear
projection of what I wanted to be growing up: meteorologist/storm chaser, astronaut,
professional athlete, athletic trainer/physio, band director, speechwriter,
journalist, and MC]
I do what I do because I love to do it. I am who I am
because I wouldn't know how to be anyone else. Simple as. One day I hope to be
able to provide for a family, where my kids can be rewarded with the same
opportunities I have worked for. I want to repay the sacrifices my parents made
for me so I could get to where I end up [Talking
future here] by sacrificing for my own.
When the time comes, my kids don’t have to play sports or want to be a writer.
No, they can dream of being a scientist, dream of creating a new business, dream
of painting or playing music, or dream of inventing things. Whilst our paths may be
different, some filled with more struggle than others, there is a common desire to
strive for the ability to spoil, to procure a concrete foundation, to fulfil an
obligation to someone you’ve never met –
this is what motivates me.
