After the Collision, I Knew I Couldn’t Stay

17. This wasn’t the first, second, or even the third time I’d experienced a significant head trauma.

five years ago.

A snowboard collision left me incapacitated for months with a traumatic brain injury.

When I began to resume normal life, I alluded to it in passing on social media but never quite explained the magnitude of that event. I wouldn’t be where I am today had I not gone through that. And, I wouldn’t have been getting paid to stand on a snowboard in Jackson, Wyoming at all had I not taken a few leaps and left turns on the path leading me to that spot.

To understand how I’d come to be living in Wyoming, you first need to understand a few foundational things.

1. growing up, snowboarding totally and completely engulfed me. 

Otherworldly and unknown to a kid from small-town, flat-land New England, snowboarding was its own version of Hollywood – full of pro athletes, cool brands, awe-inspiring photos, magazines, international stories of adventure, and full-length movies. It was, without question, out of reach. But my little piece of the snowboard world gave me enough room to escape.

For a child growing up in a chaotic environment, snowboarding was my Hogwarts. It gave me a (tri-wizard) cup to fill.

Where real life served pandemonium, it offered quiet.

As a kid, my backyard and snow-covered driveway made the perfect dojo for jumping, spinning, riding switch (backwards), or learning tricks. In the hopes of being somewhat proficient when riding with onlookers, my approach was to fail repeatedly by myself first.

My first backflip took place in that dimly-lit after school paradise, seen only by a spotlight I’d rigged in a nearby tree with an extension cord.

2. i like learning, growing, and trying to improve. 

The best way I’ve found to do that is by leaning into what you’re bad at and getting used to being uncomfortable.

I started working earlier than my peers.

Working under-the-table for a company that hosted corporate outings, I’d learned the power and choreography of the cross-sell and upsell by age 13.

In a different job, as a 16 year old, I quickly grew comfortable talking to adults about the B2B corporate problems they were facing as a means of establishing credibility and rapport so they’d listen to what I was teaching them.

My summers, school nights, and weekends were spoken for from middle school on — from food service to camp counseling and from teaching skiing and snowboarding at my local hill in Massachusetts to franchising and managing business operations for a growing company in college. 

Work served as a healthy distraction and as an opportunity to satiate my ever-present curiosity.

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3. why Wyoming?

Despite my drive professionally, havoc erupted personally.

We all face hard things. We all overcome what life throws at us by using the tools we have.

When my lack of healthy coping skills met a match they couldn’t mask their way out of, I went on a 90 day NOLS semester in the backcountry of the Rocky Mountains at a time when my world was crumbling around me.

It quite literally saved my life. 

NOLS is the national outdoor leadership school (we love a good acronym) and they are the foremost global experts on teaching to the intersection of outdoor proficiency and leadership.

The experience drowned out the chaos and offered much needed quiet.

Forget trying to pour from an empty glass, I’d lost my cup entirely. NOLS taught me how to find a new one when needed and how to fill it before it ran dry. A lot of what I learned during that experience I still use daily, refined and reinforced by the practical application of professionally leading groups in backcountry settings later on.

My NOLS experience was so meaningful to me that I’d eventually wind up working for them at their world headquarters in Lander, Wyoming. 

“Wait, you just…up and moved across the country?”

Sure did.

The thing about all those years spent working, learning, and growing is that they started to include bigger leaps. Despite what you may see, my moves are meticulously calculated. I’m not afraid of jumping if I can see workable puzzle pieces and probable paths to success.

When I’d eventually moved to Jackson, WY from Lander to further enable my passion for snowboarding, I’d also set my sights on continuing to learn and grow. Jackson, WY is the mountain sports mecca of North America and is home to some of the world's most elite mountain athletes and guides.

Jackson is Wimbledon. Jackson is Madison Square Garden, Hollywood, Atlantis, and Neverland.

For me, the best part about living in Jackson was the proximity. One of few places on the planet that offers access to terrain of that magnitude, it’s no wonder the best in the world at their craft choose the Tetons as their home base.

I think what I love most about Jackson and the Tetons is that they’re a level playing field for anyone looking to learn. The mountains don’t care about you and it’s the most freeing gift you can be given. It means you have to care about yourself. If you want to succeed, it’s up to you to increase your knowledge and skills.

Jackson offered me a lot of opportunities.

My writing got published in places I’d read from as a kid. I pursued professional guiding certifications. I trained, competed, and coached at the highest level with some of the world's premier mountain and endurance athletes.

I found a community that I cared for and that cared for me.

Me, the kid from Massachusetts who used a snowboard to navigate from a life of escape to one built for purpose.

after the collision, I knew I couldn’t stay.

On impact, I was thrown into a half-backflip, stopped short of a full rotation by the contact of my head with the ground. Momentum from the skier who hit me urged my body to complete the unfinished maneuver, despite my firmly planted face, and my spine crumpled.

The months that followed mostly took place in the confines of my apartment — shades drawn and lights off. Sunlight intensified the blurred vision, nausea, confusion, and blackouts. My eyes couldn’t track correctly. Overstimulation was constant and required a lot of physical therapy to regulate.

Part of the compounded problem was that this wasn’t the first, second, or even the third time I’d experienced a significant head trauma.

I attempted to downplay the severity of my situation. To this day, I don’t know why I did that. 

Truthfully, I think I was embarrassed. 

I was irritable. Severe post-concussion symptoms lingered for a long time. Physical difficulty aside, the accident left me unable to work and facing an extended period of financial instability, physical therapy, medical bills, and depression.

What it did give me, however, was time.

And I used it to focus on what I could control and on ways that I could help myself grow.

• Five years ago, a snowboard collision left me incapacitated for months with a traumatic brain injury.

• Four years ago, I ran a solo ultramarathon in the Tetons. I needed to show myself I could.

• Three years ago, I gave up alcohol. Shortly thereafter, I moved across the country, yet again — following the plan I’d hatched when recovering from the collision.

• Two years ago, I started a job at a new company. I wanted to see what I could bring to their team, what I could learn from them, and what we could accomplish together in building scalable marketing systems.

• Last year, I decided to say goodbye to my personal social media profiles. I wanted to see where life would take me without them. So far, so good.

• This year, I started this newsletter.

“why do we fall, Master Wayne?” 

I love that Batman quote for the mental image of Michael Cane’s Alfred that pops up, smiling at young Bruce Wayne while he says it. It’s the knowing grin worn by mentor to pupil in the space preceding an “ah-hah” moment. 

Alfred offers what I aspire to; a warm welcome to getting knocked down in place of the built-in shame that I spent so many years learning to shed.

• I believe in the power of consistent, small efforts over time. 

• Refined systems of accountability set me free.

• Grace, Pace, and Space keep it that way.

I’m connecting the contours of my own map. Use what you find helpful, leave what you don’t.

Thanks for being here.

talk soon.

Thank for being here. See you next time.

onward.

-dmac

Thanks for reading Unobstructed!

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