Last night, I started watching a documentary about Michael Jordan. I grew up idolizing this man, everything from his jumpshot to his tongue sticking out. He seemed to have the ability and the drive that so few had, alongside of flair, and seemed to pique my interest as a young kid who wanted to go pro. The other person I really admired was Jerry Rice. He as well was known for a very serious commitment to working hard and having one of the most grueling personal workouts in the league.
When I was in high school, I remember going to my guidance counselor and asking him to review my applications for college. In one of them, I think for Northwestern University, I wrote an essay with the abbreviation NBS: Never Be Satisfied. He took issue with this and said he was worried. In the moment, I wasn’t sure why he said it, but looking back on it, I’m pretty sure he said it because at that time I was basically anorexic.
Yes. A 4-letter high school athlete being anorexic. I don’t tell many people about this and I was hesitant to write it here, but I knew if I didn’t, I would only be telling 10% of the story.
I had grown up as the chubby kid playing sports. Not very chubby but slightly chubby. Kids used to make fun of me for having slightly enlarged breasts, giving me “titty twisters” and causing outsized attention on it. Perhaps they didn’t notice it as much as I did. So sometime in high school, I think junior year, I said to myself that I would get 6-pack abs. I was determined. I ran a few miles every day. I drastically cut my calorie intake. The problem was, I never was satisfied. I kept exercising and kept cutting calories. At one point, the varsity football coach called my mom and said that he thought I had a problem. It broke me.
Over the next few years, I got better at eating more and became a lot more lax when it came to exercising—I let my discipline go a bit. I got scared at how disciplined I could be and how dedicated I could be to a goal, ignoring all of the signs along the way.
I think this is what the counselor meant when he took issue with Never Be Satisfied. I kept going and going and going, never believing that it (or I) were enough.
I write about this today because I think I sometimes don’t sleep well because at the end of the day, almost regardless of what I did that day, I believe that I haven’t done enough. Even if I wrote three 10-minute essays and audio recorded them and helped people process deep emotions—nope, not enough. Even if I ran life-changing workshops—nope, not enough.
Even now. Did I write enough? I hope.
