"This is zero slight to you - and frankly, I wish we could hire both of you."
A CEO once wrote these words to me as part of the news that I wouldn’t be receiving an offer for a role I’d been recruited for. Instead, he was choosing someone from his network - a person he’d worked with before.
His correspondence was thoughtful, professional, refreshingly candid, and his final decision pragmatic.
My (internal) response was not these things:
F-ck yourself and f-ck your platitudes, buddy.
All of his chosen words - both those I’ve shared here and the longer email - were gracious, earnest, and well-expressed.
But what I heard in them was: "My probability of success is greater in choosing the alternative to you."
That translation hit hard - the kind of gut-punch that remains even when delivered in the most respectful and forthcoming manner possible.
It would be immature to let that define my takeaway (though I 100% dwelled on it much longer than I care to admit).
The mature takeaway is that sometimes - frustratingly, confoundingly, exasperatingly - it simply isn’t meant to be.
Despite our perfect readiness (the hours of preparation), our complete devotion (the mental energy invested), and our undeniable merit (a track record that speaks for itself), the opportunity isn’t ours to have.
The bitter lesson to be choked down when the nerves are less raw is this: worthiness and destiny operate independently of each other.
If you're grappling with similar circumstances right now, I encourage you to spend some time with Marshawn Lynch - the sports poster child for "not meant to be."
A player who sat one yard from football’s greatest glory, and as arguably the best power runner in the game, didn’t get the ball. So he didn’t get the ring.
With the benefit of hindsight, his perspective is a masterclass in handling life's "thanks, but no thanks" moments.
At best, you’ll find the peace and perspective you’re seeking.
At worst, you get to spend some time with Marshawn.
In your corner,
The Legend:
10,413 rushing yards, 85 touchdowns, five Pro Bowl selections, first team All-Pro (2012), and Super Bowl champion (XLVIII).
Before that night in Arizona, Marshawn Lynch had turned inevitability into an art form.
In a season where he'd scored seventeen touchdowns and left a wake of broken tackles behind him, Beast Mode wasn't just a nickname - it was a promise.
Give him the ball, and yards would follow.
Stack the box, and he'd break through anyway.
At Super Bowl Media Day, his relationship with inevitability took a different form.
"I’m here so I won't get fined," he repeated, twenty-nine times in five minutes.
Each iteration like pressing against a door that refused to open.
But between the sidelines, he authored different stories - each carry a defiance, each broken tackle a declaration.
The less he said, the louder his running spoke, until his very presence in the backfield became a kind of prophecy.
The Moment:
Super Bowl XLIX. Glendale, Arizona. February 1, 2015.
Twenty-six seconds left.
One yard between Seattle and a second consecutive Super Bowl victory.
The Patriots' defense, already gasping from a game's worth of collision with Lynch, had just watched him power through for four yards.
They knew what was coming.
Everyone knew what was coming.
Even the math seemed to know: An 88 percent chance of victory for the Seahawks hanging in the Arizona air.
But probability is a poor substitute for prophecy.
The Seahawks lined up in shotgun. Russell Wilson took the snap.
And with that one snap of the ball, an entire legacy shifted.
Malcolm Butler, laughably prepared for the play that was being run, jumped the route.
The first interception thrown from the one-yard line all season became the only one that mattered.
Beast Mode, the man who had built a career on being unstoppable, could only watch his destiny be carried away in someone else's hands.
The Words:
I was expecting the ball.
For weeks afterward, Lynch's silence carried a weight all its own.
It wasn’t a deliberate choice to hold back - it wasn’t the silence of saying nothing, but rather the silence of having nothing to say.
When he finally spoke, five words escaped, each one heavy with the gravity of what might have been.
Within those words lives the deep-seated fear shared by every athlete, by every person: not merely the pain of defeat, but the loss of control.
The moment when agency dissolves and the story you’ve been writing is suddenly authored by someone else.
The Truth:
The numbers had promised one story:
Lynch, unstoppable all season, needed three feet.
Just three feet to fulfill four quarters of prophecy, to turn inevitability into immortality.
The collective breath held in that stadium was waiting for exactly one thing.
But football, like life, has to pass through the spaces between “should” and “would” and “did”.
And so what everyone knew would happen dissolved into what actually did.
An expected chapter somehow erased without ever having been written.
The Echo:
Today, that single yard has stretched into something larger than distance.
You can hear it when Lynch speaks about the play years later - not in bitterness, but in a kind of earned wisdom.
The man who once shielded himself behind seven repeated words now offers different ones:
Even in reflection, even in what might have been, he finds space for gratitude and perspective:
What could sound like deflection reveals something more profound:
An understanding that some moments define us not in their fulfillment, but in their absence.
The Lesson:
The kid from Oakland had made a career of turning impossible into the inevitable, of turning "you can't" into "just watch me."
Every carry was a statement, until the most important carry of all became a question mark.
And maybe that’s why the moment endures.
In those twenty-six seconds, we witnessed something raw and universal:
The space between capability and opportunity, between what we could do and what we're allowed to do.
The carry that never came speaks to something deeper than football.
It reminds us that sometimes the heaviest burdens are the moments we never got to carry.
The Deep Dive:
📹: Butler Intercepts Wilson to Seal Patriots Super Bowl XLIX Victory (NFL / YouTube)
📹 : Marshawn Lynch On His Mental Health, Pete Carroll & More (I Am Athlete Podcast)
Sometimes life hands us a moment that feels like it was written in the stars.
You've done everything right. You've prepared. You've earned it. You're ready.
And then... you don’t get the ball.
You were the most qualified candidate who didn't get the job, the perfect partner who wasn't "the one," or had the brilliant idea that never found its moment.
As you’ve now read, I get it. I’ve been there.
And so I’d like to introduce you to this beautiful Japanese concept called En (縁).
It's tricky to translate directly into English, but think of it as the invisible threads that connect (or don't connect) people, moments, and destinies.
What makes En so powerful is that it completely separates worth from outcome.
It says some things are meant to be, and others aren't - and neither has anything to do with how deserving you are.
Tom Hagen lives through it in The Godfather - brilliant, loyal, more capable than anyone else in the room. He does everything right, proves himself time and again.
But Michael is unflinching in telling Tom that he’s “out.”
Not because he isn't worthy, but because that wasn't his En.
Ray Kinsella lives through it in Field of Dreams - builds a baseball field on faith, follows every sign, does everything asked of him.
But doesn't get to cross into that magical cornfield (“Not invited? What do you mean I’m not invited?”.)
Not because he isn't worthy, but because that wasn't his En.
One of the most difficult things to do is to hold two truths at once, but I urge you to try it:
Truth #1: You were absolutely worthy of that moment.
Truth #2: It wasn't meant for you. And that's okay.
It’s not about giving up or letting go of dreams, but rather about recognizing that your worth will only carry you so far on your journey, and sometimes you don’t get to hold the pen when the time comes to write the next verse.
You can be exactly right for something, perfectly prepared, completely deserving - and it still might not be your En. That's not a judgment on you. It's just how paths sometimes align or don't.
The freedom in this perspective is that it lets you stop questioning your worth when things don't work out. You don't have to torture yourself wondering what you could have done differently or try to find the lesson in every loss. Sometimes it's as simple as: that wasn't your En.
So if you're standing at your own goal line right now, watching a different play unfold, know this: You're not alone. Your worth is not in question. And somewhere out there, your En is waiting - not because you'll earn it, but because that's the path that's meant to align with yours.
Keep being worthy. Keep showing up. But also give yourself the grace to understand that some things just aren't meant to be - and that says nothing about how deserving you are of them.
Your worth and your destiny are running on parallel tracks. Sometimes they meet perfectly, creating those magical moments we all live for. But when they don't? That's not a failure.
That's just life showing you that this particular connection wasn't your En.
Some performances don’t just win games - they make statements. And Azzi Fudd’s night in Columbia said everything UConn needed to.
Her 28 points and six threes weren’t just numbers in a box score - they were daggers, slicing through South Carolina’s 71-game home winning streak in an 87-58 dismantling that had Gamecock fans heading for the exits early.
The questions had been getting louder after stumbles against Notre Dame, USC, and Tennessee.
Fudd’s response?
A flamethrower of a performance that reminded everyone - dynasties don’t fade quietly when players like Fudd are still pulling on the jersey.
How Azzi Fudd Helped UConn Destroy South Carolina (CBS Sports)
To For the Love of God Be Ok - Wemby
To Sell a Shit-Ton of T-Shirts for Charity - Terrence Shannon
Terrence Shannon Drops Incredible Upside-Down Shirts After Illinois Botches Jersey Retirement Ceremony (Yahoo! Sports)
Illinois AD Apologizes for Terrence Shannon Jr.'s Jersey Being Hung Upside-Down During Pregame Ceremony (Yahoo! Sports)
