Chasing Ghosts

In high school, I made the definitive decision that I wanted to make a living as a sports journalist. I enjoyed writing and my passion for sport coursed through every vein in my body. If I could not partake on the field, writing about those who are living the dream was as close as I could get. I earned the grades, enrolled in university, studied for six months, and dropped out. The person I had set out to be lay buried in a shallow grave, surrounded by broken dreams, lost aspirations and unused potential.

Several of my friends also dropped out in their first year of tertiary study, however, it was ill-comfort to realise how fickle and fragile a dream can be. In one of the first lectures I attended, we were informed that journalism was as competitive a profession as there is and that becoming a sports journalist was the most sought-after career in the industry. Was I deterred by this revelation? Was the prospect of rejection and years of fruitless labour enough to end my pursuit of a meaningful career? Or was there ever any meaning in spending a life writing about other people’s achievements? These questions plagued my mind for several months. I pondered who I was and who I wanted to be. Eventually, I decided that making a difference in the lives of others was more valuable than forfeiting years of my life to potentially make a living criticising those who achieved what I could not.

I returned to university the following year and enrolled as a student of human movement and health education, a long-winded way of saying that I wanted to become a physical education teacher. Teaching is a noble profession. There is no argument that the world relies on teachers to shape the next generation of children to pursue their passions and make a difference. In high school, I had several teachers who were incredibly influential in feeding my curiosity and cementing my desire to remain a lifelong learner. I wanted to be that person to the next generation. My certainty in pursuing this career was nourished further throughout my time on work placement and in lecture halls where I consumed every ounce of information tossed my way.

However, that gnawing feeling of chasing ghosts presented itself again through the nihilism of reality. Again, I found myself wallowing in a lecture hall with the prospect of spending over a decade awaiting permanent work after graduation. The cap and gown remained hung in the closet with my skeletons. A year and a half lost to the pursuit of finding meaning where there was none. The following year I attempted to regain my passion for teaching, and within six months, the shallow grave I had dug gained another corpse.

Perhaps becoming a police officer was my calling. Another noble profession. Protecting innocent citizens, cleaning the world of crime and evil, and becoming a symbol of hope and peace. This was the closest I could get to becoming a shadow of the heroic men I admired in the pages of comic books. Enrolling in new courses was becoming a habit of mine, and so too was dropping out. The shallow grave was becoming overcrowded.

After a year and a half, seven months of which were spent mindlessly working in a lonely cubicle, I reassessed my life. Suffocated by the lifeless walls and artificial glow of lights and fake personalities, I returned to my first love. During an uneventful lunch break, I locked myself in a meeting room, called the university I had found online and enrolled to study a Bachelor of Sports Business (Leadership).

Going back to university at the age of 24 was a daunting experience. Most of my friends had graduated and were making their way up the corporate ladder, developing their abilities as skilled labourers or starting their own businesses. I was back at square one.

I attacked my new degree with a vigour and intent that I had neglected in previous attempts. After a solid first year, I applied for and was accepted into an internship program with a professional AFL team. For three months, I experienced the day-to-day workings of a professional sports team and was ready to immerse myself deeper into this world. In May 2020, that all changed. The world went into lockdown to halt the spread of the coronavirus, and collaterally, my professional progress.

I remained committed to my studies and continued to achieve higher grades than ever before. As the world opened again, I searched for more opportunities and was accepted to partake in an internship with a semi-professional soccer team. With opportunity, comes luck. As it would happen, the brief internship with the AFL team proved invaluable. On a warm evening in March 2021, I received a message from one of my previous mentors at the AFL team. He had accepted a role with my favourite NRL team and was looking for a motivated and capable colleague to join him. I jumped at the opportunity, accepting to start the next day. I finally had a paid role with a professional sports team, not just any team, my team.

Between my studies, internship and work, I confided that a future in sport seemed inescapable. The world had other ideas. The second coronavirus lockdown was more intense and confining than the initial one fourteen months earlier. With only six months remaining in my degree, the future I had carefully crafted and tireless devoted my life towards, crumbled before me.

During the second lockdown, I found myself at a crossroads. The world of sport I had dedicated myself towards had proved to be a fickle industry at the hands of global catastrophe. Whenever I had made progress, when my life finally seemed to be taking the form of something meaningful and fulfilling, it was all taken away.

With the ghosts of broken dreams haunting my past, I finally earned my cap and gown. At 27 years old, I had mastered my demons and completed my tertiary studies. But the frustration and emptiness imposed by the lockdowns left a scar that would not heal.

I have always enjoyed writing, in my grade six yearbook I wishfully exclaimed that I wanted to be an author when I grew up. That same year, I received an A3 artbook from my mother and every year since, I spend several days working on producing an artwork of varying quality. From sports players to Simpsons characters, video game heroes to landscapes. Art had remained a constant in my life without any conscious effort to keep it so.

As my Bachelor of Sports Business (Leadership) neared the final weeks of my final semester, I owed it to myself to finally pursue the life of meaning I always wanted. To break free from the chains I had wrapped around my childhood dreams and let them be free.

Three days after my final assessment was due and my bachelor’s degree was complete, I commenced my studies as a student of graphic design. I absorbed all things art and design. My passion was boundless and the world I had shut myself away from had opened with a burst of colour and creativity. For two years I worked tirelessly to develop my skills. Creativity cannot be locked down. Creativity cannot be suppressed. No gatekeepers prevent the breath of life from embodying new and wonderful art. Creativity is freedom.

I completed my studies and started my own design company called Saile Creations. It is slow going and I have suffered a few defeats along the way. Despite my formal studies coming to an end, I remain a life-long learner. I am now 30 years old. It has been a dozen years since I graduated high school. The boy I was then is not much different to the man I am today. There may be a few more skeletons in my closet, a friendly ghost tempting me with what could have been and a mound of student debt that I try not to think about, but it is all worth it.

It may have taken longer than expected and I may not be exactly where I want to be yet but through those years of searching, I found something many abandoned, myself.