A Walk in the Woods

A photo journal of sights during my walk through the woods.

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When Winter Turns to Spring

At seventeen years old, I visited a small Christian college in Los Angeles. I took it upon myself to walk into one of their buildings which offices a renowned psychology doctoral program. I hadn’t even graduated high school yet, and I was informing the impromptu tour guide/receptionist that I wanted to come here for my doctorate in about six years.

A year later (which was filled with extensive amounts of misfortune), I was moving into a new university in downtown Indianapolis. My family and I were at lunch taking a break from all the moving. They were surprised that, despite all the misfortune I had experienced, I still wanted to pursue psychology and become a counselor. It was during this conversation I learned about “sport psychology” and tucked it away in the back of my mind. It gave me hope — the idea of working with people that were pursuing something great. For the duration of the semester, I had the requirements of becoming a sport psychologist taped on a wall beside the desk in my dorm room.

That winter was dark and lonely, only fueled by this desire to literally — in every sense of the phrase — turn my life around. A friend I hadn’t talked to in years sent me a link to a motivational video out of the blue.

The voice of Steve Jobbs played over what was basically a training montage of random athletes sweating, working toward something great.

“You can’t connect the dots looking forward; you can only connect them looking backwards. So you have to trust that the dots will somehow connect in your future,” he said.

Nearly four years later, I sat in my “Introduction to Counseling” class and felt this intense pang of panic and discouragement.

On the corner of my desk was a book titled The Champions Mind by sport psychologist Jim Afremow. I unfortunately have no recollection of how I got that book. The only time I had to even read something non-academic was while the girls I nannied did their daily 20-minute reading. Since I was with them three days per week, I was able to get an hour in of reading each week.

Anyway — I felt empty. Unfulfilled. Frustrated. And a bit tormented by this dreadful thought that I had traveled down the road of counseling while wanting to go toward sport psychology instead.

Going back to the days when the sport psychology requirements were taped next to my desk, I learned pretty quickly that no one knew what sport psychology was. Professors, researchers, peers, etc. were unfamiliar and thus unhelpful. I wouldn’t say I gave up, but it was more realistic to pursue the degree ahead of me rather than chase after one that didn’t exist.

Why’d I feel so angsty in this class? We were finally learning about how to really help our clients. We even got to practice in triads: one was the “helper,” one was the “client,” and the other was the “observer.” But something was missing for me.

I was always involved in sports, but I was never a stellar athlete. I might’ve had a handful of good performances but I struggled with consistency. I can speak from personal experience that the hardest part of all the sports I played was managing my mind.

That evening, I took the nanny girls to dance class, something I thoroughly enjoyed. I sat with the other parents in the hallway/lounge area. It was late February, so space was even more limited due to boots, coats, and other winter gear thrown on the floor. I sat in a small plastic chair with my open backpack leaned against the metal legs and my laptop gingerly sitting on my thighs.

I was staring off into space, not getting much done. I was never a dancer, so the chaos of the dance studio was massively unfamiliar to me and very distracting. Through the glass windows I could see the girls I nannied fumble around and try to learn these basic contemporary skills. I admired the teenage instructors for being patient.

In between staring off into space and watching the little dancers “dance,” I was texting with someone who would end up being my husband four years later. He was asking what I was studying in college and what my “dream job” was. It dawned on me that this was a fresh start. This was the first time I ever admitted that my “dream job” was to work with athletes on their mental game, and that I wanted to study sport psychology in graduate school.

I’m a terrible liar, and I can’t stand dishonesty, but I was telling the truth. I just had never actually declared it as such.

A little over a year later, I was accepted into the only sport psychology master’s program in the state.

It was mid-March and one of those gorgeous early days of spring that turn your whole outlook around (midwesterners understand).

I was doing an ab workout at our local Planet Fitness and decided to check my email. I laid there with my back against the spongy (dirty) exercise mat, and immediately shot up. “CONGRATULATIONS…WELCOME” were the two words I saw, and I didn’t care to read the rest. I would later read that I earned a monthly stipend and tuition waiver in exchange for a teaching and research position; something for which I didn’t even apply but wholeheartedly accepted.

Hopefully I wiped down my mat and put it away, but I can’t remember. What I do remember is walking to my car in the parking lot sobbing, and telling my then-boyfriend-now-husband that I got into the program. I then called my mom, who at first thought I said “I got hit,” and not, “I got in,” and assumed I was in an accident. Her reaction to knowing I was more than okay was priceless.

I’m going to speed this story up, but before that I need to mention what my first few months of graduate school felt like.

I have a picture on my phone of the school’s athletic hallway leading to our graduate assistant offices. The picture shows this huge red stripe on the wall with white-lettered “ATHLETICS” painted in the middle. It gave off that athletic-vibe: cool, powerful, and strong. And I felt part of it.

But I carried around this deep, looming sense of defeat and despair. Would I actually be able to help someone?

I was always involved in sports, but I was never a stellar athlete. I might’ve had a handful of good performances but I struggled with consistency; though I can speak from personal experience that the hardest part of all the sports I played was managing my mind.

One day, I sat in our research lab. It was a large, cold, and sterile room. At the end were three computer monitors paired with those fun spinny office chairs. I sat with my new research partner who was a year older than me. She was married. I wanted to be married, but not yet.

“I’m doing a minor in counseling,” I said, probably mumbled.

“Yeah we all said that, too,” she laughed. “Just wait. You’ll end up adding the master’s in counseling.”

“Isn’t that an extra year?” I wanted to burst into tears.

“It is, but if you think about it, two master’s degrees in three years is pretty good. You don’t want to have to go back to school.” She made an excellent point.

“I just think it’s hard to do sport psych consulting work without counseling skills,” she added.

I thought about those nanny girls fumbling around during dance practice, getting the basics down. It would be hard to do this work without basic “helping” skills.

Six months later in late February I submitted my application to add on the second master’s program. And in the middle of the pandemic, two months later, I found out I was accepted. My personal goal statement explained that in order to best serve athletes, I needed a solid foundation in counseling. I agreed with everything I said.

And the day after I received that acceptance letter, I got engaged. We agreed on a two-year engagement, now that I was officially adding another year of school. I was not about to get married and then return to school.

Again, it was mid-February but this time of 2022 and not 2018, 2019, or 2020.

I sat in my own fun spinny office chair that was paired with a computer monitor (two of them!). It was my “late day” which meant I was in the counseling center from 12:00 to 8:00 PM. I ended up accepting a position at — that’s right — the university I attended for undergrad. Talk about full-circle moment.

At one point now years ago, I sat in our waiting area, a measly little college sophomore needing to process everything that happened during that year of extensive misfortune I mentioned earlier. I filled out all the information on an iPad, then deleted every filled text box and handed the iPad back to the administrative coordinator. She was standing there with her hands cupped, ready to receive the iPad back when I said, “I’m okay. Never mind.”

Now every time I would walk down our long hallway to that waiting area to get one of my clients I would take a millisecond to look at the chair in which I once sat. I wondered how many college kids once sat there and ultimately decided to leave just like me.

Anyway — it was late in the afternoon and I had a break between sessions. Since it was toward the end of the month, I needed to calculate my hours and see how close I was to 240 (what we needed to graduate).

I added up my hours and did the math multiple times — it’s a good thing I’m not in accounting (ha) and the numbers hit me like a train. In order to graduate by May 6, I needed 110 more hours. That meant that every single one of my clients would need to attend every single session from now until then. If you’re in counseling or anything similar, you know that is literally impossible (or if it happened then it would be a miracle).

In an instant my feelings toward counseling changed indefinitely. I was already largely annoyed at the experience altogether. I shared my preference for working with athletes several times, and was told unfortunately athletes rarely come to the counseling center (I could go on about this). And this was true at the other clinic at which I had worked.

I was about to graduate in three months (maybe) and had yet to actually see a student-athlete within the counseling setting. The reality of that was terrifying.

But I felt alive while working with athletes as a consultant, not a counselor. During a gymnastics meet a few weeks ago, a gymnast hugged me after clinching one of her best scores on the floor routine and told me it wouldn’t have been possible without our work together. It was a sunny day and it felt spring. I cried tears of joy almost the whole hour drive home.

Remember what that gymnast told you is what my classmate would end up telling me, when I ultimately confessed my dissatisfaction with counseling, and how sport psychology is the direction I feel headed.

But I agreed — I needed a background in counseling in order to do great, helpful, and effective work. I didn’t and was never going to quit this master’s in counseling.

I defended my master’s thesis in sport psychology five days before my wedding. I do not recommend doing that but it got a lot of applause from our guests during one of the toasts.

I went on a week-long honeymoon and returned to the counseling office late June. I still had another whole month there.

I practically skipped to our apartment pool the day I handed over my office keys in mid-July to add to my honeymoon tan from Mexico.

I sat in the pool chair sweaty, relieved, and nearly laughing from the weightless feeling I finally had in my shoulders. I replayed the most recent conversation I had:

“So now what are your plans?” the administrative coordinator at the counseling office asked, cupping her hands out to receive my set of keys.

“I have no idea,” I said, smiling. I can’t lie. I don’t like dishonesty.

I said that I was never a stellar athlete because I wasn’t consistent, but I don’t think this is true anymore. Stellar athletes — stellar people — show up every day and try.

Stellar performers talk as if a goal to be met six years from now really isn’t that far away.

Stellar performers figure out what needs to be done and then hang it where they can see it everyday.

Stellar performers accept the fact that others don’t get what they’re doing and keep doing it anyway.

Stellar performers read books in their spare time to gain more knowledge.

When the time is right, stellar performers declare their goals and commit to them. They adjust as necessary.

Stellar performers are honest with themselves. They remember where they started and continuously evaluate where they are, and where they’re going. And why.

It’s now late February of 2023. I didn’t realize it until today, but turning points in my life seem to happen around this time of year, when winter turns to spring. As midwesterners know, this can change your whole outlook.

At the moment I’m working part-time at a local whiskey distilling business as an accounting clerk (remember when I said it’s a good thing I’m not in accounting?) and dabbling in some marketing tasks. It’s been cool to see how a small business operates.

I filed the paperwork for Aly Wright Consulting, LLC last month. When I’m not working part-time, I’m building a sport psychology consulting business by contacting local athletic directors, various gymnastics facilities, and networking in other ways. Also by writing about my life, then posting it on social media.

Check out my post called, “A Trip Through My Sports Career” where I recall my time as an athlete.

A Walk in the Woods

When Winter Turns to Spring

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