#113: That bittersweet feeling.
Reflections on knowing when things must end or change.
Sports and my fandom for it rarely, if ever, surface in any other entries in this newsletter. For those who know me in the physical world, all the nerdy and techy things I often write about should come as no surprise. But you'd never know by looking that I'm also a huge fan of the New York Rangers hockey club. My love for this team has its genesis in their 1994 Stanley Cup run, and since then, my heart has, for better and for worse, bled Ranger blue for over thirty years.
I'm old enough now to have seen my fair share of players emerge on the NHL scene, take their first big league steps at Madison Square Garden, and go on to become successful Rangers for either the short or long haul. It's rare, though, for a player in any sport to spend their whole career with one team, and in all my years of rooting, I think I've only seen it happen twice with the Rangers. Most significant stints end in a trade or a signing elsewhere. I've seen that more times than I can count, and the most recent addition to that list is Chris Kreider, whose tenure of thirteen years just came to an end.
Reader, it doesn't really matter if you know who Chris Kreider is or not. Just know that he came up as a juggernaut eighteen-year-old with the Rangers over a decade ago, and grew into being an integral part of a Rangers core that went to the Stanley Cup Finals, won a President's Trophy, and had multiple trips to the Eastern Conference finals. His speed, his play, and most of all, his dedication to this team transcended the ice and placed him in circles with all-time Ranger greats. However, after a string of unsuccessful runs at the Cup, hockey's highest honor, the Rangers general manager correctly diagnosed the problem: their core of players just couldn't cut it. Kreider, now age 34, was a big part of it, and that along with back injuries, a disappointing season, and management's desire to get younger, put Chris Kreider's name as a constant on the trade block. So, it's only natural that myself along with most fans are feeling conflicted over his trade last week to the Anaheim Ducks, and what this change means.
Kreider's departure, and the bittersweet feeling associated with it, shows up in other facets of everyday life. That bittersweet feeling, of knowing things must end or change, has reared its head in many of the interpersonal relationships I've cultivated across my now forty-plus-years of life. In some way or another, all connections face this emotion. And, Reader, nearly every time I go through this arbitration, I feel some sense of heartbreak over it. People come into my life, significant people, and spend time by my side. While connected, our paths and journeys run parallel to each other, whether that be by physical location, like a job or school, or by lifestyles or milestones. Laughs are had. Vulnerability is displayed. And love is shared. However, time does, as Elvis so beautifully serenades in his cover of "Unchained Melody," change so much.
Someone changes jobs.
New connections take precedent.
People constantly grow and change across their lives, and sometimes even the best of friends can drift. In my experience, no one is all bad or all good, and any severed connection is not a judgment of the person. As we change, we may start to value other things, potentially moving towards some and away from others.
Reader, as I think back across all the connections in my life, the ones I keep near and dear to my heart and even the ones that have ended, in most all cases I do not regret the time spent nor wish anyone ill will. Because a part of me loved them and a part of who I am today is because of them.
As I turn my attention back to Chris Kreider, I can confidently say the same. I loved watching him play for thirteen seasons. I loved the highs we had together, and I'll cherish them forever. But he's no longer a fit for the Rangers. It's best for both to move their separate ways, and that's okay.
Good luck in Anaheim, old friend. I wish you well.
Thanks for reading.