Lessons from Junior Seau

The tragic suicide of Junior Seau has created all kinds of discussion in the sports world and medical profession. The fact that Seau played the game with more concussions than even he could count has led to rampant speculation as to why this seemingly joyful, life-filled man would end his life so suddenly.

The part of the larger Seau produced conversation that most interests me centers on the question of how difficult it is for a retired athlete to adjust to life outside of his sport. All kinds of retired athletes from Mike Golic to Lorenzo Neale have weighed in on the perils of adjusting from a regimented, structured life to a wide-open one. They’ve also noted the impossibility of adequately replacing the intense adrenaline rush of the playing field with any suitable alternative.

I’ve listened to these heart-felt arguments with compassion and sympathy. And while I don’t claim any personal experience with the inner lives of professional athletes, I can’t help but think that their transition to retirement has more in common with the rest of the world than many might think.

The basic emotional and ego-driven challenges that accompany retirement are the same for all of us. How do we go from being needed each day to being largely irrelevant? How do we go from having to wake up by a certain time to get to work to not having anyone – at least at work – waiting on us or depending on us? How do we go from being cheered or at least appreciated to being unnoticed and largely disregarded?

Of course we must recognize that athletes go through these complicated and emotionally trying adjustments at a much younger age – often 30-35 years before those of us in the non-athletic world. But they also do so with a lot more money in their bank accounts and with bodies and minds that have a lot more years left in them.

So what do athletes do to adjust to retirement in a healthy fashion? The same basic things that non-athletes must do regardless of their age or relative income level. First and most importantly, they need a dedication to a cause bigger than themselves. It may be a charitable endeavor; it may be church or religious group; it might even be to parenting, grandparenting, or being a Big Brother/Big Sister. Ideally, the retiring person gets plugged into and committed to this larger cause while still working/competing, so that the transition allows him to spend more time and dedicated attention on this already vital endeavor. Think of what Sean Penn is doing in Haiti or what Brad Pitt is doing in New Orleans. They’re both still acting and in the peak of their careers but they have paved the way for more significant involvement in world bettering causes when they can no longer work on the silver screen. A great book to read on this aspect of the retirement transition is Bob Beauford’s Half Time. Beauford was a cable television mogul from Texas who dedicated 100% of his energy in the first 20 years of his working life to making money, to financial success. But he got his wake-up call when he learned that his twenty something son had drowned in a river. This event represented what Beauford would later call a “half-time” experience, when he went into the locker room of life to evaluate where he had been and where he would go with the rest of his life.  He came out of that experience convinced that while the last twenty years of his life had been about being successful, the next twenty or thirty needed to be about being significant – living in a way that improved the lives of others and that made a positive difference in the world. The subtitle of his book Half Time is “Moving from success to signficance.”

Thus my first recommendation to athletes – and everyone else - as they move toward retirement is to consider what cause they are or can be committed to that will allow them to live significantly after their first career is over. Talk to older mentors; talk to pastors or community leaders, talk to other famous athletes or entertainers who are meaningfully plugged into something significant. There is nothing better than a wise mentor to guide you from a success-oriented life to a significance based one.

Second – and this is particularly important to athletes – one must find some way of competing. It probably won’t be in the sport in which you excelled – at least not as a player. But learning a new and intensely challenging sport, such as golf, tennis, or rowing can provide a measure of adrenaline and endorphin release to help your brain and body transition out of full time professional sports. Some former athletes prefer to coach in the sport they know the most about or even to help a youth program in that sport. I have one retired NFL friend who has opened up a CrossFit gym to help train athletes - and ‘wannabies’ like me - who just want to get in better shape. The gym allows him to push himself on a physical plain, while also pushing others in a very competitive yet supportive environment. He goes to various training certifications all around the country to equip himself with new skills and ideas to keep him fresh and progressing as both a CrossFit athlete and coach. Curt Shilling has decided to compete in the business and development end of the video gaming industry, creating and promoting a new video game. This may not be as physical in nature, but it is intensely competitive nonetheless.

Competition is, in many ways, a drug. And like a drug, it cannot simply be walked away from. Competitive environments produce a tremendous amount of brain activity, endorphin release, and glandular production. One should not underestimate the bio-chemical dependency – even addiction – that competition creates. Walking away from that without lining up a healthy, suitable replacement is a recipe for depression.

Third and finally, relationships must become a top priority. While many of us don’t realize it until it is too late, what matters most to us is who we love and who loves us. Rick Warren said it best in The Purpose-Driven Life. He talks about the many people he has sat with during the final moments of their lives, and notes that, almost without exception, what they want to be surrounded with at that moment is their loved ones. He jokes that he has yet to hear a death bed request for a last look at one’s trophies, awards, gold watches, and framed diplomas. What we all want to know as we transition from a career to retirement and from life to death is that we are loved, that we have made a difference in people’s lives.

What so many of Junior Seau’s playing buddies noted in the wake of his tragic suicide was how much they all missed the locker room and the daily relationships with teammates and coaches. Once one’s career ends, whether from the playing field or the boardroom, such relationships aren’t so conveniently provided or available. But that doesn’t mean they are gone. It simply means one must take greater initiative and exert more effort to nurture and continue the relationships that matter.  Unquestionably, such relationships are a lifeline and worth whatever effort is required to sustain them. In Seau’s case, it seems that he kept even his friends at a distance. People who knew him well, like Marcellus Wiley, had no idea that Seau was struggling.  This may have been a result of the macho façade so many men feel they must project, particularly in the sports world. Certainly, learning to be authentic and vulnerable in one’s relationships is a vital skill to carry into or at least develop in retirement. And let’s remember that just as there are football coaches, there are also relationship coaches and counselors out there to assist in one’s pursuit of healthy, supportive, authentic relationships.

Junior Seau’s suicide was tragic. My hope is that it will spur all of us to look carefully and prayerfully at how we are living and whether we are preparing adequately for life after our careers. Finding a cause larger than ourselves, an avenue for continued competition, and a means for honest, authentic relationships are the keys as we transition into retirement.