The Blackboard

There was a blackboard hanging in my house.Written on it was a number.

16.

At 32 years old, I was starting regularly for Shrewsbury Town in the League One of the English football league

Looking back, it was one of those seasons where everything seemed to click. The game felt simple. I wasn't overthinking. I wasn't chasing confidence. I wasn't searching for form.

I was just playing and having a fantastic season.

Every week, another game would pass and I would walk over to the blackboard and rub a number away for the remaining games of the season.

16, 15, 14, 13...

Why did I do this countdown?

At the time, it seemed perfectly reasonable.

The season had been long. I was physically tired. Mentally tired. We were involved in a relegation battle. There was pressure to perform every week and I was aware, somewhere in the back of my mind, that my career wasn't going to last forever.

And so I started counting down.

Counting down to the holiday.

Counting down to the break.

Counting down to the moment I could finally switch off.

A few weeks ago, I found myself thinking about that blackboard, some ten plus years previous.

Not because of the football.

Because of what it revealed.

I had spent months wishing away something I had spent my entire life trying to achieve.

As a child, I dreamed of becoming a professional footballer.

I dreamed of playing in front of crowds.

I dreamed of competing every weekend.

I dreamed of being part of a dressing room.

I dreamed of living that life.

Then one day I was living it.

And instead of fully embracing it, part of me was focused on what came next.

The holiday.

The rest.

The finish line.

How strange is that?

I can remember the blackboard.

I can remember the numbers.

Yet without really looking back I can't even remember the holiday I was counting down towards.

The thing I was desperately looking forward to—a break, a rest—has largely gone from my memory.

The thing I was rushing through, trying to get to the end, I might have missed something along the way.

Football isn't unique in this regard.

We all have our own blackboards (well at least in our heads).

Children counting down to the summer holidays.

Adults counting down to the weekend.

Employees counting down to retirement.

Parents counting down until the kids move out.

Athletes counting down to the end of the season.

Always looking towards the next milestone.

The next achievement.

The next break.

The next chapter.

The problem is that life doesn't happen in the future.

Life only happens in the now.

Whilst studying for my Master's, one idea that has stayed with me is present-moment awareness.

Whether you call it mindfulness, being present, or simply paying attention to what is happening right now, the message is remarkably consistent across many different approaches.

Acceptance and Commitment Therapy (ACT), developed by Steven C. Hayes, teaches us that the goal isn't to eliminate difficult thoughts or emotions, but to notice them without becoming controlled by them.

We can feel pressure, fatigue or self-doubt and still fully engage with the moment in front of us. In many ways, that's where both wellbeing and high performance begin.

Not because the future doesn't matter.

Not because goals don't matter.

But because while we're staring at the horizon, we can miss the landscape we're already standing in.

That season wasn't easy.

There was pressure.

There was fatigue.

There was uncertainty.

ACT teaches us that we can make room for those experiences without allowing them to pull us away from the life unfolding in front of us.

The challenge isn't to eliminate discomfort.

The challenge is to stop postponing our lives until discomfort disappears.

Because it never completely does.

There is always another challenge.

Another season.

Another deadline.

Another holiday.

Another thing to look forward to.

If we're not careful, life becomes one long countdown.

I sometimes feel a sense of sadness when I think about that blackboard.

Not a deep regretful sadness,

Just a quiet recognition that I was living what many people dream of and still couldn't quite see it.

But alongside the sadness, I'm grateful for the experience.

The lesson from the event arrived late, but it arrived.

And perhaps that's enough.

Maybe that's why the memory came back to me all these years later.

Not to make me regret the past.

But to remind me about the present.

These days, whenever I catch myself saying, "I can't wait for..." or "Once this is finished...", I think about that blackboard.

I think about those numbers.

And I ask myself a simple question:

What if this is the bit, I'll miss one day?

What if this ordinary Tuesday, this stressful week, this difficult season, this assignment I'm trying to rush through is actually part of the life I'll wish I could revisit?

Because one day it might be that.

The games eventually ran out.

The football career eventually ended.

The holiday came and went.

But the lesson remains.

Don't spend your life rubbing numbers off a blackboard.

Don't rush through today in search of tomorrow.

Life is happening here and now.