Shattered Dreams

I've just watched, via the magic of the internet, a short press conference by Andy Murray, the Scot who  was at the top of the tennis world not that long ago, ranked number 1 in the world. Unable to hold back his emotions - and his tears - Murray conceded that his injury and the pain derived from it may be about to put an end to his career, leaving him feeling he has not fulfilled his potential and achieved all that he was capable of, despite three Grand Slam wins and an overall record no British tennis player can match in the modern era.

Murray is crying, I believe, not because of the physical pain, though I'm sure that can at times be excruciating, but for the loss of his dreams - he now has to, perhaps, set aside everything else that he was hoping (even expecting!) to achieve in tennis. This proud Scot is crying for the dreams that may never be, the lost dreams, the shattered dreams; this is a feeling that many of us have on occasion felt and have had to live with at one level or another.

Some years ago - forty to be precise, but who's counting - I decided to pursue my dream of becoming a professional motor racing driver, hoping to win races internationally and, ultimately, reach Formula 1 and become world champion. In order to try and achieve this I gave up a comfortable life in Greece, liquidated what little assets I had (a car, a motorbike, a guitar etc.) and moved to the UK, hoping to serve my apprenticeship and rise through the ranks. Previously I'd been to the Jim Russell Racing Drivers School in Norfolk, where I'd shown some promise in what was an almost entirely new field to me - single seater racing - and where I got the bug seriously. Like many other young guys - and it was mainly guys in those unenlightened days - I put the rest of my life on hold to try and succeed. And like all the others I had great belief in myself and my abilities and was prepared to do almost anything to get where I wanted to go.

Life for aspiring anythings is hard and full of sacrifices, and motor racing is no different. My contemporaries and I slept on floors and in cars, did odd jobs to earn pocket money or worked on our own cars in order to save, even went without food just so we could manage to pay for our racing. Some of us borrowed money, others used savings or sold assets (including houses, farms etc.), a few had wealthy families to help, but we all dreamed together of winning, of success, of reaching our goals. 'We are the Champions' by Queen was popular at the time and we all felt it talked about us.

Often you will see successful people in some walk of life who will say that all you need to do to get there is to believe in yourself and to want it enough, something that I know from personal experience not to be true. In fact the opposite holds true: unless you want something badly enough and are prepared to put yourself out to achieve it you will never get anywhere!

Andy Murray has made the sacrifices, as has his brother, guided by their extremely able and determined mother. Andy has also shown himself to be a supremely gifted tennis player who has managed to combine talent, determination, skill and good fortune to reach the top; he has enjoyed the spoils and was planning/hoping to stay at the top for a while. Now he can see this all disappearing because of frailty in his body, something that neither he nor science seem able to fix. It is a crushing disappointment.

For different reasons, specifically the inability to raise the appropriate finance (sponsorship etc.), I also had to face not being able to continue in my chosen sport/profession. Even more painfully, my efforts were not rewarded with reaching the top levels and winning championships, leaving me both unfulfilled AND disappointed. Of course I felt crushed inside, as many others do in similar circumstances when one cannot govern one's own fate, and have always felt that I would one day go back and complete the dream (the plan?). Alas it was not to be and now the only two people I would have collaborated with to attempt serious driving again are both dead. And I am too old to be a Formula 1 racing driver, but not too old to remember the bitterness of when I had to accept that my 'career' as a racing driver was, in all likelihood, over.

A little of the bitter taste remains. I feel for Andy Murray and wish him well.