Free Where We Belong by Hoda Kotb

challenging.”
    But, in hindsight, Craig calls the allure of retirement one of life’s greatest tricks.
    “I think life does have to have purpose, and I think we do benefit from some sort of tension in our lives, to a healthy degree—some problem you’re trying to solve, some piece of the puzzle you’re trying to fit. I think the human condition likes to be challenged and intrigued. The problem with retirement is that most of what’s in our forefront are memories of how it was. You’re not looking forward to anything other than another round of golf or another party. There isn’t anything that’s pressing in front of you, so all the really good parts of your life are in the rearview mirror. We’d go to these cocktail parties and everybody was talking about what used to happen. We were very seldom talking about what we were doing tomorrow, because we knew what we were doing tomorrow—we were going to go to the golf course, play golf, have a few cocktails, and go to somebody’s house for dinner . . . where we’d again talk about what we used to do,” Craig says with a laugh.
    In 2000, Kathi took a job at a family learning center teaching elementary school students. She also spent a month in Mexico volunteering at an orphanage. Opting out of the tight-knit country club lifestyle was delicate, but Kathi was feeling more connected with her Catholic upbringing and less with what had become a rather unrewarding routine.
    “It just began to feel a little narcissistic, a little too, Is this all we’re going to do for the next forty years of our lives? Something didn’t feel right.”
    Craig describes himself in the second year of retirement as chronically empty rather than bored; conflicted, too.
    “There was a period of personal mutiny going on because after all, this was the plan and we got there and it was such a luxurious, and in many respects, such a good life,” he says, “so how could I question that?”
    In August 2001, Craig was offered an intriguing opportunity that would take him back to a place where his most gratifying memories were made—the football field. His college roommate, who had become the head football coach at the University of Nevada, invited Craig to spend a week observing players participating in the Wolf Pack training camp. Craig agreed, and ultimately, his old friend valued his insightful input. The coach then suggested to a colleague, the head football coach at Arizona State University, that Craig could offer fresh eyes on his football program, too. By 2004, Craig had accepted a full-time job with the team as director of player development and assistant to the head coach. Staff members lightheartedly dubbed him the Architect of Attitude for his impactful relationships with players.
    “I was a cross between a sports psychologist and a success coach. I usually had about seven or eight one-on-ones a day, and I’d have confidential conversations with the players. We’d talk about life—and football—and then I’d tell the coach patterns I was hearing from the team,” Craig explains. “Then we did a whole bunch of character-development stuff in the off-season, things I learned in my business that I just contoured to football. I really loved it.”
    Kathi watched Craig flourish and rediscover a meaningful direction in life. She told him at dinner one night that she hadn’t seen him as happy in years. Her own search was still under way.
    “I was actually jealous. My God, he got it! He found it! It was a perfect blend of his skill sets—nurturing young men, football; he loves the whole team sports thing,” she says. “I love sports, too, so it was a good thing for us as a couple. I really thought, This is it .”
    But was it? On a beautiful autumn morning in Arizona, a routine round of golf answered that question.
    Craig knew of Rick Federico because they belonged to the same country club in Scottsdale. They’d shaken hands on the golf course but never shared a conversation.