The first time I have ever written this.

Yesterday I turned 30.

And for the first time in my life, I sat still long enough to really feel the weight of that number.

I feel like I’ve accomplished a lot.
And at the same time, I feel like I’m just getting started. (cliche of me to say but I get told every day how young I am by you old guys!)

The weird part is… based on where I came from, I have no business ending up here.

Growing up, we didn’t have shit. We had the opposite of money.

At one point seven of us lived in a two-bedroom garage apartment above a preacher’s garage in Waller, Texas. My mom, my dad, five kids. I had a baby-blue and gray CD player. One CD on repeat: Rascal Flatts. Specifically, My Wish. That song was my escape — the only place I could go when reality felt too heavy for a kid.

Reality was heavy.

We were evicted from houses. Moved constantly. Same town, different addresses. Walmart clothes. Two pairs of shorts. Two t-shirts. Nothing fancy.

My dad was sick. I watched him have seizures. I went to the hospital with him when he had strokes. I wasn’t even in high school yet. I’d stay home from school sometimes just so I could be near him in case something happened. I’d tell my mom I didn’t feel good. I think she knew the truth — and I think she was relieved I was there.

Christmas morning, 2009. Eighth grade.

I was the one who went to wake him up so we could open presents.

He didn’t wake up. He was gone.

I remember standing at the window, face pressed against the glass, watching the ambulance, crying. That moment never leaves you.

High school came. Football and tennis became my world. I knew one thing for sure: college was my way out. Somehow. Some way.

Baylor gave me a walk-on spot — couldn’t afford it.
Small D2 tennis walk on offer — couldn’t afford it.

It felt like junior college was the only option… and then Stephen F. Austin called. New staff. They needed a long snapper. Scholarship. Just like that, my life changed.

Not long after being in college, two of my close friends from high school died in separate accidents within the same year. One dirt bike. One falling asleep at the wheel.

I was sending money home to my mom from my scholarship stipend.

Then my mom went to jail — during my second season. For the first time ever, she missed me playing football. No one knew this one. I kept it silent.

My grandparents were everything to me. When I came home, they made sure I had gas money. Food. Anything I needed. They carried me through more than they’ll ever know.

By junior year of college, I had built a small software agency and was doing okay for a college kid. I still sent money home when I could.

Senior year, everything flipped.

I sold my business for a little bit. I met with NFL teams. And suddenly, for the first time in my life, it felt like the uphill turned into level ground.

Fast-forward to today.

On paper… it doesn’t make sense.

No trust fund.
No family money.
No safety net.
No backup plan.

Just my plan.

Turning 30 yesterday made me think about that kid in the garage apartment with the blue CD player. The kid who didn’t know what was possible because no one around him had ever seen it.

And I realized something:

Somewhere out there, that kid still exists.

And he needs to know it’s possible.

Because I didn’t know. I never knew. Hell, some days I still don’t know. I just kept moving. Kept building. Kept betting on myself when there was no guarantee it would work.

I’ve been unbelievably blessed in my first 30 years.

I earned every inch and its okay to say that.

If you’re reading this and you feel behind — you’re not.
If you’re reading this and you feel stuck — you’re not.
If you’re reading this and the numbers don’t add up yet — neither did mine for a very long time.

But progress compounds. Effort compounds. Faith compounds.

And sometimes the only thing you need is someone to tell you:

It’s possible.

— CW