More Than the Roles We Carry

Our roles in life change; they always do. The real question is whether they define us or shape part of who we are.

It’s a question I’ve asked myself often over the past few years—an interesting, and at times uncomfortable, paradox.

Fortunately, I’ve spent several years working with Aaron Goldman from Playfree Sports, building a mental performance coaching program for the Rogue Valley Timbers. A core part of that program focused on handling pressure in context and, more importantly, not letting what you are (soccer player, coach, dad) define who you are.

That lesson became very real for me after I stepped away from my long-time position as the organization's Executive Director. I’ve had to remind myself, sometimes daily, that I’m still me without the title, without the position, without the urgency of the role.

And now, as my boys accelerate toward the next chapter of their lives, the question feels even more prescient.

I’ve been a father for 17 years (almost to the day), and a coach for over 30.

When so much of our identities are tied up in titles, coach, father, husband, executive director, stepping out of any of those roles can be unsettling, and often disorienting.

What's next when our roles fade, change, or end altogether?

I suppose this uncertainty, or even fear, is natural, especially when transitioning from one season to the next. On one hand, there’s excitement in the idea of rediscovering yourself. On the other, there’s real trepidation about what fills the space that used to be so occupied.

Running the soccer club filled a lot of that space for me. The emails, schedules, daily challenges, the relationships, and especially being fully aware of our impact on the

community, were deeply gratifying. Over time, it became hard to separate myself from the work.

Now, waking up without all of that is strange, even unsettling. At first, the absence felt hollow. But as I sit in that quiet space, something unexpected has surfaced: a sense of relief and a clear reminder that my core self is still here.

For the first time in a long time, I’m figuring out how to lead with who I am, rather than what I do.

Stepping out of that role didn’t instantly reveal the answers, but slowly, I’m beginning to understand what this season is asking of me.

It’s not about recreating the old rhythms. It’s about showing up for my family, friends, community, and myself.

Sometimes, that means being available in ways I couldn’t before, helping when asked, listening when needed, taking better care of my physical and mental health, and being open to whatever comes next.

It’s simpler. Quieter. And in many ways, it feels more honest than ever.

As I reflect, I often wonder what my boys are observing through this process. They’ve grown up never knowing me any other way. I'm constantly in motion, working to improve on what we did yesterday, managing a multitude of moving parts, wants, and needs, and always focused on what has to be done next. That version of me was often defined by urgency and responsibility.

So now, I have to ask myself what I hope they see and what I’m modeling.

I hope they see that it’s okay to slow down, that productivity or titles don’t define your self-worth, and that who you are matters more than what you do.

I hope they notice that being available, listening, and showing up for those around you is a worthy measure of success. Sometimes, strength looks like vulnerability, and leadership can mean stepping back, letting go, and embracing what’s next with openness instead of control.

More than anything, I hope they carry this with them when their own seasons inevitably change, when sports end, jobs shift, or life asks them to step into the unknown.

And someday, I hope it serves as a quiet reminder not to let what they do or the roles they hold define who they are.