The Illusion of Happiness: How Sports Taught Me to Chase the Wrong Things

The summer before my sophomore year, I broke my ankle.

At the time, it felt like my world had come to a halt. Soccer wasn’t just a sport to me—it was my thing. My identity. The game I fell in love with when I was ten. It gave me joy, confidence, and a sense of purpose. And suddenly, in one instant, it was all taken away.

As I sat sidelined for months, I clung to one thought: Once I can walk again, once I can run again, once I can play again—then I’ll finally be okay. I poured everything into that vision. Rehab became my obsession. I monitored every small improvement like it was life or death. I kept telling myself that happiness was just a few months away—that my anxiety, frustration, and sadness would disappear the moment I got back on the field.

And eventually, I did.

I ran again. I played again. That first day back felt incredible—like I was finally whole again.

But it didn’t last.

Within days, the feeling of joy vanished, and I found myself chasing the next thing. I told myself I wouldn’t really be happy until I was back to my pre-injury form. Then, it became about dominating again, scoring again, being “better than before.” The same pattern started all over: happiness wasn’t where I was—it was always the next step ahead. The future kept holding my peace hostage.

After a rough game one night, I completely broke down. In the car with my dad, I cried out of pure frustration—at myself, at my performance, at how unfair it all felt. I had worked so hard to get back, and still, I felt empty.

What stuck with me that night wasn’t the pain or the anger. It was what my dad said to me: he reminded me of those nights during my recovery when I would sit in bed and dream—not of scoring goals, but just walking. Just jogging. Just passing a ball around. And now, I had all of that back... and I barely noticed. I had become so focused on chasing the next goal that I forgot to appreciate what I had once prayed for.

That’s when it hit me: I was living in a cycle of constantly chasing happiness through achievement. But every time I “arrived,” I immediately moved the goalpost again. Even when the ankle healed, my mindset didn’t. My whole life I been been so conditioned to "chase the next goal".

In sports, especially for young men, we’re taught to always want more. Run faster. Lift heavier. Score more. And beyond that, we’re taught to look like we don’t care. In today’s culture, it’s somehow “cool” to act like nothing bothers you. Like emotions are weakness. Like wanting something deeply—and not getting it—makes you soft.

But that’s not how we’re built. Human beings do care. We do feel. And when we pretend we don’t, it doesn’t make us stronger—it makes us more disconnected.

I didn’t realize it at the time, but my mental health had been suffering long before I broke my ankle. I just didn’t have the words for it. I didn’t know what anxiety or emotional burnout looked like. All I knew was that I had to keep performing, keep pushing, and most of all—never let anyone know I wasn’t okay.

But here’s what I’ve learned: we’ll never reach some perfect, “flawless” version of ourselves. And tying

We often tell ourselves things like:“Once I get back to starting lineup…” “Once I win this tournament…” "Once I get recruited…” “Once I prove them wrong…”

But even when those things happen, the satisfaction fades fast. And we move on to the next milestone. The truth is, we rarely take time to be proud of where we are—because we’re too focused on where we’re not.

There’s nothing wrong with having goals. Growth is necessary. But growth without gratitude can leave you feeling hollow. If you’re always chasing the next thing to feel happy, you’ll never actually feel happy. Because happiness isn’t in the achievement—it’s in the experience.

Sometimes, I imagine myself as an old man—sitting on a park bench with gray hair and worn knees—thinking about these years of my life. And I know he’d do anything to run across a soccer field again. He’d smile just to lace up his cleats or pass a ball around with friends. He’d look at the version of me right now and wonder why I ever took this for granted.

I don’t want to be that old man, full of regret for the moments I was too distracted to appreciate. And I don’t want that for you either.

So here’s my challenge to you—especially to other young men who feel like they always have to achieve to feel enough:

Stop waiting.Stop waiting for the next win, the next goal, the next version of yourself.Start looking around. Start appreciating the people, the memories, the breath in your lungs, and the fact that you get to play the game at all.

Because one day, you’ll realize those small moments were the big ones.

You don’t need to earn your worth through perfection. You don’t have to hide your feelings to seem strong. You don’t have to keep chasing a version of happiness that doesn’t exist.

You are not weak for feeling lost. You are not broken for needing rest. You are not alone for questioning your worth.

You’re human. And that’s enough.

So stop waiting.Start living. And don’t forget to enjoy the game—before it’s over.