I am the Master, I am the Captain

Tattooed on the inside of my right bicep, is the last verse from the poem “Invictus” written by William Ernest Henley. The last sentence of that verse reads, “I am the master of my fate, I am the captain of my soul”. I got that tattoo about 9 years ago and I don’t think I ever understood how truly powerful those words were, until now. For as long as I can remember, I’ve let words and the thoughts of others and my inner critic chart the course for my life. But at the end of the day, I’ve finally realized that words are merely just words and they can weigh as much or as little as we choose to let them. I’m 33 years old now, and for nearly 33 long years I’ve loaded my ship known as life full of meaningless words, and allowed them to anchor it in place. No amount of wind could fill my sails enough to allow my ship to leave the shore line, until now.

I weighed a whopping 83lbs when I walked onto the mat at my first wrestling meet of my freshmen year. That was 83lbs soaking wet, I might add. Though I was lanky and scrawny, I had the heart of a lion and more fight in me than a bull dog off the chain. You might be thinking to yourself, so what, well let me add that not only did I only weigh 83lbs, to add to my plight I had to wrestle at a weight class well above my weight at 112lbs. Wrestling kids that weighed nearly 30lbs heavier than I did seemed like a near impossible and daunting task. But I stepped onto the mat for every match with an insatiable will to fight, and an unrelenting desire to conquer and overcome adversity.

Practice seemed almost cruel at times, and I had to muster every fiber of my being to make myself attend practice, and finish the season all the way through. As much as I hated it at times, I was extremely thankful for the physical pain and mental struggles I faced, through that wrestling season. I would go on to finish the season 3rd in the Northern Nevada 3A region, qualify for state finals, and be awarded a varsity letter and most improved wrestler for Fernley High School’s wrestling team. I finished the season not only physically stronger, weighing in at 99 pounds, but also full of confidence determined to conquer the next mountain life put in my path.

That summer before I started wrestling, I was full of excitement for the upcoming high school rodeo season because I was going to finally be able to calf rope. Ever since I had first started riding horses around the age of 8, that was all I wanted to be, a professional calf roper like my idols Cody Ohl, and Fred Whitfield. My parents bought me a rope can with my name and a calf roper on the front of it for my birthday that year and it had seemed that my dreams were finally going to become a reality. However, my step dad had other plans. I still remember to this day, arguing with him in D bar M about calf roping at the Douglas Jr. Rodeo. I had purchased a jerk line and neck rope, and he proceeded to tell me I wouldn’t be allowed to rope calves at Douglas because I was too small.

I hated him for that. I absolutely despised him, especially when he uttered the words “you can’t”. If there were a word I could get rid of from the dictionary, it would be “can’t”. This was further exacerbated by the fact that his son was bigger than me, and made it a point to tell me every chance he got, along with his friends. It became my life’s mission to prove all of them wrong. My mom instilled in me at a young age, that I can do anything I put my mind to, and I lived by that and still do to this day. I thought to myself, “I’ll show him”. Little did I know, though his criticism may have come out harshly, it was actually a catalyst for change in a positive way. It took me a long time to realize that, and I’m so grateful for the way he told me I couldn’t. It set me out on a relentless pursuit to prove him and others wrong, but it wouldn’t be until later on in life when I realized I actually had nothing at all to prove to anyone. The only person I needed to prove anything to, was myself and myself alone.

If it hadn’t been for him and his criticism, I would’ve never wrestled my freshmen year. Wrestling my freshmen year was a pivotal moment, because of the weight and strength I gained to prepare me for my sophomore year. He was the catalyst to growth not only physically but mentally as well. It wasn’t until later on in life that I realized the reason I took his criticism so hard, was because there was actually some truth to it. Where I went wrong, is I internalized it, and let it become my truth or identity. He wouldn’t be the last to criticize or chastise me either, over my ambitions of being a professional calf roper. All through high school, I faced constant criticism from my peers and their parents over how small I was, some of the things they said were actually really hurtful, but I chose to ignore it and pretend I was unfazed by what they had to say. I had no idea how destructive to my confidence this would be. My persistent nature to ignore and bury the pain from these constant blows would prove detrimental to my performance at rodeos.

I went on to rope calves in college and at the amateur rodeo level, still only weighing in at 140 pounds. Though my determination, grit, and heart were miraculously strong, they weren’t enough to make me physically strong enough to handle the larger calves. No matter how hard I tried, and that’s just the cold hard truth. I went on to every rodeo feeling like I had to prove myself to my peers, and those who kept telling me to give calf roping up. Every time someone told me to quit, and just focus on team roping was like being thrown in the fire time and time again, the only problem is I resisted the flames and just figured I’d try even harder. There were times I sat in the arena trying to flank calves till I was literally blue in the face, out of breath, and utterly defeated. The voices would creep back in my head, telling me I was too small, I wasn’t good enough or worthy, that I should just quit, and give up on my dreams of ever roping calves at the professional level.

I’m often embarrassed to tell people that I’ve been a member of the PRCA for 6 years now and it took me 5 long years of those 6 to fill my permit. It wasn't for a lack of talent either, the talent and horse power were and have always been there. I could consistently put smooth money winning runs together in the arena, but always seemed to fall apart at the rodeo under pressure, surrounded by my peers and people I was trying my damndest to prove that I belonged there. I can’t even begin to tell you how many rodeos I’ve been to, excited and confident only to leave feeling like a failure and utterly defeated. With every mental mistake or mistake made on the ground in the arena, the voices in my head grew louder and deafening at times. Taking my focus away from the task at hand. 2015 was quite possibly one of the worst years. I drew the biggest calf in the pen at Redding in the second round. I roped him incredibly fast only to struggle in the arena for 25 seconds in front of a sold out crowd. I can recall calling my mom after almost every rodeo expressing my dismay, sometimes sitting on the line completely silent, hoping she had an answer to ease the pain from the empty hole I had deep inside from years and years of packing around words like heavy boulders in a backpack.

I took a small 3 year hiatus from roping calves, and I was so miserable. Roping calves is my release, my purpose, its what I live for. But those 3 years off would prove beneficial. I immersed myself in the world of CrossFit and I’m so thankful for it. Though I missed out on countless rodeos, and doing what I absolutely love. I gained nearly 20 pounds, a lot of strength, and a hell of a lot more confidence. I decided in 2021, to start back up and hit the rodeo trail with my good friend Kev Dalluge. Though I came back, bigger, faster, and stronger. My Crossfit addiction and newfound strength would prove no match for the ghosts I was still allowing to live in my closet.

With every miss or mistake, my inner critic was ruthless and quick to attack. My spirit and drive grew weary from carrying the constant weight of everything anyone ever said to me. I thought, well maybe if I go home and work harder in the practice pen, lift more weights, read more sports psychology books, maybe then I’ll be better and win. I thought to myself, if I could just win, or put together a clean run then I could prove to everyone that ever doubted me, that I belong in that arena roping calves. However, that’s where I went entirely wrong. There was never anything to prove to anyone but myself.

It wasn’t until qualifying for the progressive round at the Red Bluff Round-up of this year that I finally started to shed some of the weight of those words I’ve carried for so long. The whole day leading up to roping my third calf that night, I went through a roller coaster of emotions. Everything from feeling excited and nervous, all the way to feeling like I didn’t belong and it was a fluke. How sad is it, that I chose to let words and thoughts from other people and my inner critic begin to destroy what was such a momentous day for me and my calf roping career. Rather than just enjoying the moment and soaking it all in, the demons from my past tried to rob me of the one thing that makes me feel truly alive. I wouldn’t talk to a friend the way I talked to myself the first part of that morning.

A few phone calls to Mom, and a good friend, I finally started to unload a few of those boulders I had been carrying for all these years. I could finally breathe a bit easier again. For the first time ever in my career as a calf roper, I backed into that box that night no longer afraid of failure or feeling like I need to prove myself to my peers and biggest critics, including myself! Hearing Bob Tallman announce my name was truly one of the greatest moments of my life and I’ll never forget that. I knew I had to be fairly fast to make it back to the short go, when I nodded my face, I left everything out in the arena. No regrets. Though it didn’t go the way I wanted it to, I left the arena proud of what I had just accomplished. Something that at one time felt nearly impossible.

I spoke with Tyson Durfey for a few minutes after, to ask him what I could have done differently in my run and explained to him how long I’ve struggled mentally. I’ll never forget the words he said to me as it poured down rain, he said, “you know why you were able to do that tonight? You started roping for yourself, you’re doing it for you and nobody else. And that’s all that truly matters.”

As I sit here on my horse, Rusty. Enjoying the sights and sounds of the historic Pendleton Round-up after having roped our second calf. I can’t help but look back on this incredible journey I’ve been on. I’m truly amazed at the tremendous growth I’ve made on a personal and competitive level ever since that incredible night at Red Bluff several months ago. For the very first time ever in my life, I’m doing something I absolutely love, for me and no one else. I backed into the box this morning with a clear head, and one thing on my mind. There was no noisy background chatter from voices of the past. There were no negative words weighing me down with fear and doubt, no inner critic to tell me I wasn’t good enough. It was as if the entire arena was empty and I was the only one roping and the feeling that came with it, was incredible.

I honestly believe that all the heartache, adversity, and pure defeat I’ve felt over the last couple decades through rodeo and roping wasn’t all for nothing. I truly believe this was merely another chapter in my book of life that God gave me to write and learn from. Perhaps the lesson in all of this was to learn to show myself some more self compassion and realize that the only person I ever had to prove anything to, was myself and myself alone. The greatest gift of all from this lesson, is unshackling myself from the chains that have anchored me to this bull shit story I’ve told myself for as long as I can remember, dictated by my peers, that has affected all aspects of my life. My heart is full, because today I’ve hoisted the anchors and ditched the heavy burden from unnecessary cargo. As I turn the page to write the next chapter of this incredible journey called life, my ship has finally left the shore and sails swiftly with full sails. However for the first time ever it only has enough room for one person at the helm; because I am the master of my fate, and I am the captain of my soul. #LIVELIFEUNBROKEN Exodus 3:14