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.
