Waving Through A Window

The Hey Man Newsletter is about sharing experience and life. We're all just out here trying our best. Hopefully, we can help each other along the way. I'm no expert, but I hope my experiences can mean something to someone.

This is going to shock anyone who knows me, but I'm not a musical guy. In fact, I hate them. I like 'Hamilton' and I've learned some of the 'Wicked' songs because of the movie, but that's about the extent of my musical knowledge. I don't like them. People do like them! And I am happy for those people. But, I am not one of those people.

I do, however, get down with 'Dear Evan Hansen.'

I've never seen the musical. I've never seen the movie. But that soundtrack is my jam. I go full Winston Bishop when I'm in the car and I belt out those songs at the top of my lungs. If I turn the music up loud enough, I even convince myself that I sound the same as Ben Platt and should be on Broadway myself. That soundtrack is as good as it gets.

The song 'Waving Through A Window' is my favorite song on the soundtrack. It's catchy and easy to sing along to, but it's the way the lyrics perfectly describe so many aspects of who I am that really bring that song to life for me. Over the last few weeks, I've found myself tapping on the glass a whole lot.

I've learned to slam on the brake
Before I even turn the key
Before I make the mistake
Before I lead with the worst of me

Give them no reason to stare
No slipping up if you slip away
So I got nothing to share
No, I got nothing to say

I promised myself that I wouldn't write some kind of alpha bro 'YOU CAN'T WIN IN LIFE IF YOU'RE LOSING IN YOUR MIND' quote here because, well, lol.

But over the last few weeks, I've felt like I'm stopping myself from starting. I'm not talking about starting a new company or some real estate opportunity where I can con my friends out their money, but something real.

I've been nervous to write this newsletter today. I've written tens of thousands of articles over my career. There have been hundreds of thousands of people who have read my stories about some of personal experiences and stories. I'm not new to this space, but I have been nervous to write this letter. Even as I'm writing it, I'm nervous.

It's different for me, even different from my previous non-sports writing. I don't have a beautiful story or some kind of profound analogy that I can draw from. I have my inner feelings (definitely not alpha, haha) and a story to tell. It makes me nervous

I've been nervous to have some difficult conversations with people close to me.

I've been nervous to confront hard things that have been looking at me in the eyes.

Those nerves have kept me in the house. I have hit the brakes before I turned the car on. I have taken an approach that kept me safe, and I've pretended like I have nothing to say.

Okay, some actual context is probably helpful...

About 18 months ago, something happened to my son that has been really challenging. It's his story to tell, not mine, and Ruby Franke taught us all that we shouldn't be using our kids' experiences to build up our own. But my little dude's story has shaped a lot of the things that have gone on in my head over the last year and a half.

To be clear, he's fine today. We've had some ups and downs, but he's okay now.

But I didn't know if that would be the case 18 months ago. To absolutely no fault of his own, he was a victim of someone else's actions.

I was angry when it happened. I was angry at the situation. I was angry at the people involved. I was angry that I couldn't prevent it from happening. I was really, really angry.

As time went along, I tried not to be angry. I'd push the unaddressed anger down and pretend it wasn't there. Sometimes that worked for a day and other times it worked for a month, but without fail, something would happen and that anger would creep back up.

I tricked myself into believing that my anger was actually doing good things for me - like I was actually better off because I was so angry. I rationalized not moving past the anger by saying the anger was what was necessary to keep my son safe.

So I avoided the confrontation. I avoided the situation. I just slammed the brakes before I moved forward at all.

Step out, step out of the sun
If you keep getting burned
Step out, step out of the sun
Because you've learned, because you've learned

On the outside, always looking in
Will I ever be more than I've always been?
'Cause I'm tap, tap, tapping on the glass
I'm waving through a window
I try to speak, but nobody can hear
So I wait around for an answer to appear
While I'm watch, watch, watching people pass
I'm waving through a window, oh
Can anybody see, is anybody waving back at me?

We start with stars in our eyes
We start believing that we belong
But every sun doesn't rise
And no one tells you where you went wrong

There is a constant conversation happening in my brain. I have so much ambition. I have so many ideas. In my head, I am as innovative, courageous, and bold, as anyone that I know.

But in that same head, I am unsure of myself. For every, "Jeff, you could change the world" thought that I have, there are two thoughts of, "Jeff, you have never changed the world with any of your ideas before, why the hell are you so stupid that you think this one will be different?'

So, there I sit, sitting on the inside of my brain house, tapping on the glass and letting people pass me by.

I am so curious about the people, though. I want to wave at them! I want to make a difference! I want to know if they see me and if they are waving back at me! I really do care!

But I stay behind the glass. I protect myself by tapping on the windows and hoping for a glimpse of what making a difference looks like, but I keep myself on the sidelines most of the time.

When you're falling in a forest and there's nobody around
Do you ever really crash, or even make a sound?
When you're falling in a forest and there's nobody around
Do you ever really crash, or even make a sound?
When you're falling in a forest and there's nobody around
Do you ever really crash, or even make a sound?
When you're falling in a forest and there's nobody around
Do you ever really crash, or even make a sound?
Did I even make a sound?
Did I even make a sound?
It's like I never made a sound
Will I ever make a sound?

The real meaning of this stanza changes for me depending on my mood. But this past week, it became crystal clear in my convoluted brain. I didn't have the ability to change the world, but I could change my world. But it wasn't going to happen on the other side of the glass. If I didn't step outside, then I was only as loud as a tree in the forest that nobody can hear.

Something happened that brought all of my angry emotions back to the surface. Everyone involved could feel my anger and frustration. I wasn't hiding it anymore, but for the first time in 18 months, I didn't want to be angry anymore. Honestly, I couldn't be angry anymore.

So, I confronted 18 months worth of anger. It started with myself. I had to acknowledge to myself that I was angry and that it wasn't a good thing for me.

I grappled with my internal emotions and feelings for a while, but on other side of it, I realized that my anger over what happened to my son 18 months ago was really just covering my hurt.

I was hurt by what happened.

I was hurt because I felt like I failed in my duties as a dad.

I was hurt because I felt like a dear friendship had been damaged in a way that it couldn't be repaired.

I was hurt because my wife was going through the same emotions, and I felt like I failed her too.

I was hurt because I didn't know what to do. I had never even thought of something like this happening and I was clueless about what my next steps should be.

Whenever the hurt tried to heal, I used anger to pick off the scab. I wasn't ready to heal from the hurt because I'm still not sure I know how to prevent it from happening again. It was easier to be hurt and angry. But that doesn't mean it is more healthy.

As I wrestled with these emotions in my mind, I realized I wasn't alone. The was another family involved in this situation and I thought my anger lied with them. I tried to push it down - and frankly, I did a good job of pushing it down most of the time. But when certain things would happen, I'd rip off the healing scab again and I would be really, really angry with these people.

Sometime in the last week or two, one of the people I was most angry with was standing in front of his house. I decided in that moment that I couldn't be angry anymore and that I needed to get on the other side of the glass.

Without having any idea what was going to happen - were they angry with me? have I been wrong this whole time? what in the hell was I going to say? - I walked over to them.

I shook their hand. I gave them a hug. I came up with the most profound thing that I could think of to say.

"I don't have any words to say. This sucks. For everyone. And I just... this just sucks."

He agreed. We stood there in silence for about a minute.

I patted him on the back and walked away.

I was only over there for 90 seconds and said virtually nothing, but I learned that I wasn't actually angry with this person. They were just as hurt and confused as I was. They were angry, for different reasons, but they were angry just the same. I couldn't angry with them.

Later that day, I talked with another member of this family and I was a little more profound. I told them how sorry I was for being angry. I told them how sorry I was for thinking I somehow had the answers but refused to help them find the answers. In that moment, I knew I didn't have any answers, and they were just as lost and hurt as I was.

By the end of the conversation, I was left with just me and a bunch of anger without anyone to direct it toward.

So, I just let it go.

The anger was gone.

And I've felt so much better since.

I realize that this story is vague and it's far from my most prolific piece of writing in my career. I realize I haven't said anything profound. I know how hollow it is, and that's intentional for a lot of reasons.

But I learned something throughout this experience. Anger and hurt are two different things. They frequently appear together and they sometimes seem like they're the same exact emotion, but they're different, and they can be handled differently too.

By stepping beyond the window and confronting my anger - a 90 second conversation with 12 total words, or a 60-minute conversation on the driveway - I was able to realize the separation that existed between anger and hurt.

My anger went away because I chose to let it go.

My hurt still existed and that still has to heal, but I learned that there were others hurting too. I wasn't alone in the hurt, but I was alone in the anger. But when I let anger go, I learned I can heal with others. I can help them heal and they can help me heal. I don't have to heal alone.

There is another song in 'Dear Evan Hansen' that I like to sing at the top of my lungs. My favorite stanza makes my point much more eloquently than I can.

Even when the dark comes crashing through
When you need a friend to carry you
And when you're broken on the ground
You will be found

So let the sun come streaming in
'Cause you'll reach up and you'll rise again
Lift your head and look around
You will be found
You will be found
You will be found
You will be found

My anger kept me in the dark and behind the glass. The second I let that go - the moment I let the sun come streaming in - I realized there were people looking for me and ready to help. And I realized that there were other people who needed my help, too.

After 18 long months, I think I'm finally healing.