This article is part of our Life on the Other Side of the Game series, which looks at the lessons former athletes have learned in retirement about success, fulfillment and perspective.
I quit the NFL over concerns of brain damage when I was 24. It was the most difficult and consequential decision of my life. And there was no way of knowing what would come next.
My retirement in 2015 became a lightning rod in the debate over football. Within days, I went from being a linebacker for the San Francisco 49ers to being a guest on “Face the Nation.”
The public response was polarized. I was alternately cast as a coward and lauded as a hero. Some pundits saw my decision as an inflection point for the sport. The NFL dismissed it as an anomaly.
I didn’t know what to think.
Suddenly, I was a poster boy for CTE. At the same time, I was young and just wanted to figure out what to do next. I wrestled with that dilemma for years.
More time has now passed since I left football than I ever spent playing the game. That realization has caused me to reflect.
What are the lessons I learned from football? What are the habits I struggled to shake since leaving it behind? And what does answering these questions reveal about adapting to change and starting anew?
Maximizing
When I played for the 49ers, Jim Harbaugh liked to say, “I want to play football, coach football and then die.” He is a lifer and a proud obsessive.
I loved playing for him.
I remember Harbaugh once sitting down next to me at lunch. We nodded, said our hellos and began to eat. After a few moments, he leaned in very seriously and asked, “Have you ever heard anyone say that less is more?”
I didn’t know where this was headed. “Yeah, I’ve heard tha—”
“Huh!? NO, IT’S NOT!” he shouted. “MORE IS MORE!!”
His mannerisms were the same as when he argued a call on the sideline. He was completely incredulous. In his mind, only wimps would fall for that malarkey.
When it came to football, I tended to agree with Harbaugh. I was a “maximizer.” By NFL standards, I was undersized and unathletic. I had to grind to excel. But that’s exactly what I had always done.
Beginning my sophomore year of high school, I set one goal in football each year. Every decision I made was with that one goal in mind. Every action was taken with maximum effort. Doggedness was a gift.
Chris Borland made 108 tackles for the 49ers as a rookie in 2014. (Thearon W. Henderson / Getty Images)
In football, I knew exactly what I wanted, what I needed to do to get it and how I was going to do it. Life as an athlete isn’t easy, but it is simple. Maximizing works.
By the time I left the NFL at 24, this approach had become a core part of my identity. Naturally, it carried into life beyond football.
After retiring, I waded deeper into brain health advocacy. I was also determined to build a career outside of football. And there were many things that I missed out on while playing that I was eager to experience.
Those endeavors were wide open on their own. Together they formed a vast expanse. I was still the “one goal guy.” A maximizer. And I tried to do it all.
The results were mixed. I had some big successes, a few embarrassing failures, and I flirted with burnout a time or two. I learned a lesson the hard way: Doggedness can be a curse.
Over the years, I’ve found more of a balance.
Today, I’m healthy, surrounded by great family and friends, and I enjoy my work. I have a good life, and I’m grateful. But I wouldn’t say that I’m content.
I became curious about that feeling, and wondered whether it was even possible to be both driven and content. I wrote a question in my journal: How can I convert my passion, talent and connections into a more consistent, sustainable and contented impact?
I sought to find an answer.
Alan Page’s definition of “seeking excellence”
Elise Devlin
Satisficing
In David Epstein’s book “Inside the Box,” he argues that productivity and satisfaction come from embracing constraints rather than pursuing boundless freedom. That rang true in my experience in football and retirement.
But it was a single lesson from “Inside the Box” that provided a possible answer to my question. It’s a “how-to,” and it has been a revelation.
It’s called “satisficing.” Satisficing (a portmanteau of satisfy and suffice) is a strategy for decision-making introduced by Nobel laureate Herbert Simon. It employs self-imposed constraints to ensure contented success.
Here’s how it works:
When making a decision, first set a standard for what would satisfice (or be “good enough”). Then, do the very first thing that meets that standard. And then, importantly, move on.
Moving on is essential. It’s easy to waste our attention searching for answers that may be only marginally better than the first.
Harbaugh might s— his khakis hearing this. Settle for GOOD ENOUGH!? DO LESS!?
I was skeptical myself. The idea of not striving for the best possible outcome ran counter to a lifetime of conditioning. But Simon’s reasoning (and credibility) was hard to argue.
Simon pioneered the theory of bounded rationality. Basically, it means that our lives are full of choices and that we have limited time, information and attention to decide.
He emphasized that people aren’t decision-making machines. We can’t take in all available information, analyze it and spit out the optimal choice.
He painted a more realistic picture: Environments shape decisions through “problem spaces.” Problem spaces are the metaphorical regions that our minds have to navigate to get from a problem to a solution.
Consider making dinner plans with a friend or partner. Are you hungry? What are you in the mood for? What do we have at home? Should we order something? These are problem spaces in the environment of simply planning dinner.
Some environments, like football, present mostly simple problem spaces. Need to get stronger? Lift weights. Want a strategic advantage? Study film. The mind doesn’t have to do much navigating to arrive at a solution.
But in other environments, like making a career change, complex problem spaces are everywhere. What field should I get into? Should I relocate? Sail around the world? The mind has a lot to navigate.
Ideally, our approach to decisions corresponds with the environment and its problem spaces.
That’s where maximizers can get themselves into trouble. Football rewarded going all out. The same approach in different environments risked burnout.
In my mid-twenties, I zealously dove into environments that were full of complex problem spaces. Sure, I had some wins. But even then, satisfaction was elusive.
Losses could feel like a personal failure. Maybe I just had to do more? Work harder? This could be a stressful cycle. I spent more attention navigating problem spaces than was necessary. Often, I was stalled by indecision or burdened by overload. In either case, I had regret.
I was “doing my best.” I just didn’t know a better way.
Complex problem spaces don’t necessarily reward effort. They demand an appropriate approach. That’s where satisficing is so valuable.
I used to be really strict with diet and exercise. I tried to hit goal weights and certain body fat percentages. It was a habit left over from football.
At some point, I’d fall off the wagon. Then I would start again on another ambitious regimen. This process repeated itself for years. Even when I reached my goals, I didn’t feel fulfilled. That’s because health is full of complexity.
Now, I’m not aiming for metrics. My health standards are more reasonable. I want to have good consistent energy, get daily exercise and regularly play the sports I love. I usually meet these standards. And I’ve found that I am healthier than ever (and actually enjoying the process).
In 2015, I took on a work project with many moving parts. I felt I needed to master a few different topics in a short time. I had good intentions, but that was an impossible task. I only stressed myself out trying. The project was a success, but it took a toll.
Today, I am working with the same organization. The project is similarly multifaceted. But my approach is different.
My work standards are clear. I’ve accepted my limitations and prioritized my responsibilities. The collaboration has been incredibly generative thus far. I’m busy, but more enthused than overwhelmed. And I’ve found that I am as productive as ever.
For me, satisficing hasn’t been a lowering of standards. It’s been a stop sign at the point of diminishing returns. That reframe is a major adjustment for a former football player.
I can still fall into old patterns, but satisficing is the best approach I’ve found to balance drive and contentment.
Simon framed attention as our scarcest resource. Satisficing was his strategy to make the most of it. From that view, satisficing may be the only true way to maximize.
Sometimes, less really can be more.
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