Remembrance

I read a story today. It was about a little girl—a five-year-old child named Julianna Snow. Cursed with a terminal disease called Charcot-Marie-Tooth disease, she will die. From the blog written about her by her mother, it seems she is one that is blessed with so much perspective.

"It's okay. God will take care of me. He's in my heart."

Blessed with such an unbelievable perspective in the face of something so monumentally tragic...a young girl who will never live out that life. No more than five years here, and that's it. It got me thinking a lot. It almost made me cry at my desk at work today.

It makes me glad that I've done what I've done. God forbid, but if it did end tomorrow, I've accomplished a mission I set out to do a long time ago. I did what the Disney movies always taught us to do: make our dreams come true. Lambaste me for my feelings of "main character syndrome," but what I've done hasn't come easy, and I am proud of it.

The choice to do anything is so monumental. Something as simple as choosing Cinnamon Life as a breakfast selection, or choosing whether to go to the hospital for a few more weeks of living, or staying home to die with dignity, at five years of age. The pain left behind. The suffering she must endure. It's enough to make anyone's heart break.

I've been kept up at night thinking about this wheel of progress that keeps us going through life. I look back at the things that made me happy before. Air conditioning, while playing Rollercoaster Tycoon for hours during the summer. That made me happy, in a time where happiness was hard to find throughout the school year. Summer was my escape, then.

Playing Halo (the original one, mind) on my friend's couch, in his cool basement. Going on any vacation, specifically to Ocean City, Maryland, every summer. Tradition, inherent happiness. It was, in its own little way, automatic. It felt like it would never end. Nostalgia has hit hard, now that those things are no longer here.

I'll be home for Christmas, but there will be no more family vacations in the summer. I'll be home to see my friends once a year.

Though, there is reassurance.

"What we have once enjoyed, we can never lose—all that we love deeply becomes a part of us."

That is a quote from Helen Keller, whose perspective on life dictates that we never let go of what we have done. Those we met, tasks we accomplished, failures we failed, successes we succeeded upon, they are us.

I've thought about those who have moved on. Those who have left things behind to keep going. Those who have found solace in their lives, even as early as 20 years of age. Engagements. Marriages. Families. Triumph, failure, perspective, perspective, perspective.

We are lucky enough to even be here, on this earth, here today. Earlier this week, I was perhaps 20 feet away from losing it all due to someone else's mistake. I'm fortunate to be here. All of my memories, successes, failures, and perspectives, intact. They have not left me.

Someday there will be tragedy. Someday, there will be choice. Someday, there will be an end. Our existence is predicated on some sort of perpetual lashing of fate. A fulcrum of emotion. Admonishment. Destitution. But light. I won't be caught always looking at the dark side of life. I've tried so hard to find the positive.

Is it fair that a girl must be subject to the annihilation of her own self at five years of age? Certainly not. But for those who have perpetuated her message, I thank them. For that perspective has allowed me to grow further. To keep on this path that I want to continue to traverse. To write the words that I feel compelled to write.

Remember where we have come from, and know that it is you. Know that in some way, you have made an impact. And you will. Even as small and insignificant as we might seem.

Starting Over

On December 31, 2014, I remember where I was. I had an appointment for my car. It was getting fixed for probably the ninetieth time that year. Life sucked. I had been battling severe depression, stuck at a job that paid me $25 per day, losing money at every turn, trying to turn this dream that I pumped so much effort into a reality.

I read this quote on that day from writer and lecturer Joseph Campbell:

"We must let go of the life we planned, so to accept the one that is waiting for us."

I could have lived the rest of my days in Harleysville. Or Lancaster. Or somewhere comfortable in a life that I knew with someone I felt I loved so.

I could have settled for being a nobody, stuck working for nothing, letting my dream fall by the wayside because I thought this is where I had to be. But one fateful day showed me that, no, you're not meant to be here.

You should be what you sought out to be.

It may not be easy. There will be nights where you wonder why, or you argue with those you love the most as to how to make it work. Stuck making $25, not being paid most of the time, you'll wonder what the hell you're doing.

And all of that was true. Soon, the sting of a year of failure began to fade. Things started to turn around. It took ambition, direction, and faith. Faith was the most important part of all of it. If you believe you're not meant for greater things, then you never will be. I believe that with every fiber of my being.

The first domino fell in May, right before my birthday. Lexington, South Carolina came calling. Baseball. A new opportunity, one that showed me that this wasn't a lost cause. This was something I could do, but I had to nail this. I couldn't show fear, or resistance. This was the beginning of a new beginning.

I worked days where I got up at 8 a.m. and went to bed at 4:30 a.m. the next day. And that was routine. My responsibilities were numerous. I remember walking into a meeting very early in the process, and I was mere words away from crying. Is this what normal broadcasters have to do? I couldn't believe it.

I had always heard it was a negative to be a "doer of all, and a master of none." Yet, any job I saw, you had to be. No excuses, ever. Either you were in it to win it, or you weren't.

I thought back to what it would mean if I kept going with this dream. I would miss out on a lot of things. I'd be the only person in my family to live far away. All of my friends back home would not see me very much at all, or maybe forget about me altogether. It wouldn't surprise me at all.

But I think back to that dark place a year ago. Feeling like a complete failure. Having something feel so comfortable, yet so flawed. It was bad. It was not what I truly wanted. I was disillusioned by my own mind making something into something it wasn't.

Once the Dubuque Fighting Saints came calling I knew that whatever direction I was put in, it was the one I needed to go. If hockey broadcaster was the future, this was it. And man, I'm relieved. I've hit step one of my journey in stride. Each step I've taken in this business I've felt so much more comfortable. Responsibilities are numerous, and sleep can be uncommon at times, but this is what I wanted.

There were times I thought that I didn't want to make other people mad because I achieved something I set out to do. That was the last thing I wanted, but I knew it would happen. You can get all of those likes, congratulatory messages, but I know the human nature behind it. I saw other people succeed early and couldn't help but feel that way too.

I also don't want to believe I deserve this, but I earned this. However, it does not give me a superiority complex. This is only more motivation to work harder.

And so I start MY life, as Jordan Kuhns, the journeyman professional, in a state I thought I'd never live in. Then again, I thought I'd never go to South Carolina, or even go to school in Lancaster...but I did that too. Maybe I should keep saying I won't do things...

Iowa, of all places. This is where it all begins, huh? 950 miles away from where it all began, and where it will likely never be again.

Bittersweet, but exciting, too.

Moving Away -- Jordan's Journey, Part I

Routines broken, new routines begun.

Things change so fast when you move away. No matter how temporary, adjustments to new life happen instantaneously. What once was "wake up whenever you feel like it," becomes "I must wake up at 8, or else I will lose my livelihood." The livelihood I have worked relentlessly towards for three years. To a fault.

Three years of "waking up whenever I feel like it," feeling like a lazy son-of-a-gun after such a successful college career, took its toll. There's only so many times you can prop yourself up after another failed attempt at making your life work. Another promising opportunity, shot down. You're not the right fit. Too bad.

There's only so many times you can say "I'm going to make this work," clinging to this dream you had from the start. The 17-year-old staring at his TV, defying all personality expectations to become something more than he was. "I'll be that someday," I said to my parents. "I'm going to do this."

Did I? Sure. "Go here, do that," was my schedule. Never anything full-time. When this opportunity came up, I had to take it, regardless of circumstances, payment, location, anything. I had to move away. Get away from the staleness that was my life. Constant reminders of a painful year. A relationship gone wrong. A dream failing before my eyes.

Now I find myself 650 miles south of where I was before chasing that dream again. There's some sort of inherent happiness in this state of South Carolina. The people here are happy. It's not like the cynical north, it's a joyous south. I can't tell you how many times I've heard people express their happiness so openly to each other. "We're so excited," they say. They have a thirst for life.

I find myself trying to rediscover how to be happy. Truly happy. Where if I say "I am happy," I really am. It's so easy to fake it. Anyone can put forth an edited version of their lives. Smiles that mean nothing. Adventures that crush you more than help you soar.

For the rest of my life, I know I will struggle with this teetering scale. Happiness isn't the thing that becomes magnified. It's the sadness. When you've known the dark side more, you seem to identify with it more. "Why do you have to be so negative all the time?" I'm sure positive people were happy children. Blessed with social skills. Comfortable with themselves. Oh, and not overweight. That always helps too.

Maybe by the end of all of this, I'll be as happy as these people in the south are. Happy with my new circumstances, the fact that my dream is back on track, and happy that I continued to make a difference.

I bought a whiteboard for my office. The first thing I'm going to write on the top is "Win the day." I may feel completely drained of all effort at the end of each day, but I will have strived to win. Just like I've worked hard to get here. I won't let that part of me go.

I'll prove you wrong.