We’ve all been there.

A tournament 45 minutes outside a third-tier city.
Three-star hotel.
Rink. Lobby. Repeat.
Vacation days disappearing faster than expected.

The parent playdate goes a little too long.
The next morning…the idea of the gym, reading, or anything beyond breathing and blinking feels like a stretch.

A gritless weekend.

And on its own, that’s fine.

But when weekends like this stack up, something subtle happens:

You don’t fall apart…
You just start to drift.

We’ve talked before about how earning grit daily reduces anxiety.

Not because it’s intense—but because it keeps you aligned with yourself.

The challenge is that most of us are years removed from school—the last time structure did that work for us.

Back then:

• practice
• tests
• routines
• expectations

You were guided into growth.

Then that structure disappears.

And you enter a new node.

More freedom.
Fewer constraints.
More choices.

And that’s where the path starts to separate.

Think about it this way:

Your life moves through nodes—new environments, new phases.

Within each node:

• each day is a smaller node
• each decision, a smaller one still

And quietly, those decisions compound.

There’s also something else happening:

You have an idea of who you could be in that environment.
A projected path.

When your daily actions don’t match that path, a gap forms.

The identity gap.

You might not notice it right away.
But you’ll feel it.

As friction.
As low-level anxiety.
As a sense that you’re slightly off.

And here’s the part that matters:

You don’t close that gap all at once.

You close it inside the day.

Tournament weekends are a perfect example.

They’re a new node:

• different environment
• less structure
• more opportunities to drift

So the question isn’t:
“Do I overhaul everything?”

It’s simpler than that.

Can you live inside the node—just a little differently?

• 10 minutes on the treadmill
• a few pages of a book
• a moment to think instead of scroll

Not perfect.
Just intentional.

Because your kids are trying to build something on the ice.

And whether you realize it or not—you are too.

Small decisions.
Repeated.
That’s the path.

Find. A. Way.

Greg

The post The Path of Identity first appeared on Grit Kore.

Which raises a strange question.

Why are parents so emotionally invested in something they are not actually participating in?

The players are the ones trying out. Not the parents.

Yet the reactions often suggest something deeper is happening.

To understand it, we have to ask a bigger question:

What is identity?

The Beginning

At the beginning of human history, identity was simple.

We lived in small tribes where survival depended on cooperation. Your place in the group depended on being capable and reliable. If you could contribute, you belonged.

Your identity wasn’t something you announced.

It was something the tribe observed through your actions.

Fast forward a few million years and the world looks very different.

Modern life is large, complex, and often anonymous. Many of us are no longer evaluated daily on whether we can help the tribe hunt, build shelter, or protect the group.

In that environment, it’s easy to feel… a little untethered.

How Identity Actually Forms

Identity doesn’t appear magically. It grows through experience.

It usually follows a cycle that looks something like this:

When we encounter difficulty, we are forced to reflect. Through reflection we learn our strengths and weaknesses. That understanding produces growth, which builds resilience.

And then the cycle repeats.

Over time, that cycle produces something powerful:

a stable sense of self.

Why Failure Matters

If this model is correct, failure is not something to avoid.

It’s actually the starting point of identity development.

Which means the early years of childhood should probably contain plenty of:

• setbacks
• disappointment
• difficult lessons

These experiences are not harmful. They are the raw material of identity.

What We Sometimes See Instead

Watching youth hockey tryouts, however, sometimes reveals a different pattern.

Parents scrambling to move teams.

Parents lobbying for roster spots.

Parents constructing elaborate explanations when outcomes don’t go their way.

Interestingly, the kids themselves often seem relatively unaffected.

Which raises another question:

If the child can tolerate the disappointment, who is the distress really coming from?

When Parents Lose Their Own Identity

A common path in modern life looks something like this:

• We go to school and begin forming our identity.
• We start a career and continue developing it.
• Then we have children.

And something subtle sometimes happens.

Our own identity development slows down or even pauses while we focus entirely on our children.

When that happens, something tempting appears: pre‑packaged identities.

“Hockey family.”

“Travel team parent.”

“Elite program.”

Without realizing it, our sense of self can become tethered to our children’s activities.

When that activity becomes uncertain — like during tryouts — it can feel like our own identity is suddenly under threat.

Why This Matters

The irony is that this behavior can unintentionally interfere with the very thing children need most.

Children build identity the same way adults do:

Through adversity.

When we try to remove every disappointment, protect every outcome, or engineer every path, we may actually be interrupting the cycle that builds resilience.

The Real Opportunity

Youth sports are not just about winning games or making teams.

They are incredible environments for learning:

• effort
• humility
• persistence
• failure
• growth

But that only works if both kids and parents are willing to tolerate the discomfort that comes with it.

The Challenge for Parents

Maybe the real lesson of tryout season isn’t about the kids at all.

Maybe it’s a reminder for parents.

To continue building our own identities.

To tolerate uncertainty.

To let our kids experience adversity.

And perhaps most importantly:

To remember that our children’s journey does not define who we are.

Find. A. Way.

Greg

Related: Hockey Anxiety in Kids — tryouts and anxiety go hand in hand. Also: How to Build Confidence in Youth Hockey. See everything on the Hockey Parents Resource Guide.

See all resources: Hockey Parents Resource Guide

The post Youth Hockey Tryouts and the Question of Identity first appeared on Grit Kore.

If anxious energy could be measured with a thermometer, Fairfield County would be in the middle of a heat wave.

It’s hockey tryout season.

The nervous chatter.

The heightened gossip.

The speculative “I heard they’re taking six forwards from the A team…”

All hallmarks of tryout uncertainty.

But here’s the question:

Why are the parents so anxious?

They’re not skating.

They’re not doing the drills.

They’re definitely not bag skating at the end of practice.

Yet every year, the anxiety levels spike like clockwork.

Trying to understand this behavior led us to a framework we jokingly call:

The Symbolic Status Dynamics Model (SSDM).

Think of it as a slightly humorous way to explain why otherwise rational adults start behaving like stock traders during an earnings call the moment tryouts begin.

Our Primitive Beginnings

A few years ago, during a deep dive on developing “alpha mentality” in players with another coach, we stumbled across the documentary Chimp Empire.

It’s a fascinating look at the hierarchical structure inside chimp tribes.

The biggest takeaway?

Above all else, the chimps want to belong to the tribe.

And two million years after Homo erectus, humans are not that different.

We still want to belong.

The SSDM

Within any group, some people simply want to belong.

Others want to belong… and stand out.

Those are the alphas.

But here’s the problem at the top of the income chain:

differentiation becomes difficult.

Nice houses? Everyone has one.

Nice cars? Plenty in the parking lot.

Nice vacations? Instagram confirms.

But children’s placement in schools, teams, and clubs?

That’s scarce.

Scarcity creates status signals.

And suddenly a youth hockey team starts to look a little bit like a social sorting machine.

When kids become the conduit to belonging to an “elite” group—whether it’s hockey, schools, or clubs—parental anxiety begins to resemble the needle on a Richter scale during a megathrust earthquake.

Every stride in tryouts is analyzed.

Every shift becomes a referendum on social standing.

Every rumor spreads like breaking news.

Which brings us to the parents.

The Parent Archetypes of SSDM

Over time we’ve noticed a few recurring parent archetypes in youth hockey ecosystems.

You’ll probably recognize at least one.

Possibly yourself.

1. Legacy Hockey Parent

Status Relationship: Identity continuity

These are the classic “hockey families.”

Mom or dad played.

The garage smells faintly of old equipment.

There may be framed team photos somewhere in the house.

For them, hockey isn’t just a sport.

It’s family culture.

They want their kids to keep playing because it preserves a piece of family identity. When the kids make teams, the lineage continues.

Strengths:

• Deep understanding of the game
• Respect for the “Code”

Risk:

• Hockey identity can become inherited rather than chosen.

2. Cultural Convert

Status Relationship: Identity adoption

Every team has one.

These are parents who didn’t grow up in hockey, but quickly become enthusiastic adopters of the culture.

They buy the gear.

They learn the slang.

They suddenly have opinions about power play formations.

Because they didn’t grow up inside the system, they often rely on others to interpret development pathways. Sometimes that leads to… ambitious development plans.

Strengths:

• High enthusiasm
• Willingness to learn

Risk:

• Vulnerable to the more extreme corners of the “development industry.”

3. Optimizer

Status Relationship: Status engineering

The Optimizer treats youth hockey like a strategic environment.

They understand the inner workings of teams and organizations.

They may help coordinate apparel, ice time, or team logistics. In return, they gain proximity to decision‑makers and elevated status within the parent ecosystem.

Their child doesn’t just belong to the team.

The family becomes part of the organizational machinery.

Strengths:

• Highly engaged
• Resourceful

Risk:

• Childhood can start to resemble project management.

4. Status Narrator

Status Relationship: Narrative protection

You’ve heard this one before.

A parent explaining an injustice.

A retelling of why a roster decision doesn’t make sense.

A carefully constructed story about how great a kid played.

Status Narrators are less focused on the game itself and more focused on protecting the narrative surrounding their child’s place in the hockey community.

Strengths:

• Passionate advocates

Risk:

• Reality occasionally bends under the weight of storytelling.

5. Process Parent

Status Relationship: Status rejection

The Process Parent is a bit old school.

They may or may not have played hockey, but they understand the Code.

Effort matters.

Sacrifice matters.

Backchecking matters.

Their emotional reaction is roughly the same whether their kid scores a goal, blocks a shot, or hustles back on defense.

The focus is simple:

Effort for the team.

Strengths:

• Stable mindset
• Long‑term development focus

Risk:

• Their kid may roll their eyes when hearing “earn your grit” for the 200th time.

Why Youth Hockey Feels Different Now

Something you often hear from former NHL players is:

“Youth hockey is so different from when we grew up.”

And they’re right.

Today’s youth hockey ecosystem includes:

• Team parties
• Parent social networks
• Bars at rinks
• Matching team apparel
• Group chats that never sleep

In other words, the parent ecosystem around the team has grown dramatically.

Parents are no longer just spectators.

They’re part of the tribe.

The Glass Around the Rink

Maybe the hockey gods knew what they were doing when they surrounded the rink with glass.

Not just to stop pucks.

But maybe to protect the kids from real‑time parental participation in the game.

Because while tryout season can feel like a high‑stakes social experiment, the truth is much simpler:

Kids just want to play hockey.

And if we’re lucky, maybe the tribe can remember that too.

Find. A. Way.

Greg

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The post The Symbolic Status Dynamics Model (SSDM) first appeared on Grit Kore.

Enter The Grit Kore Project—a free, community-driven initiative created to support youth athletes with daily mental strength exercises, physical workouts, and hockey-specific guidance. More than just a resource, our intention is to build a supportive, inclusive community where young athletes, their families, and mentors come together to develop grit, resilience, and character, building a foundation for life—on and off the ice

What Is the Grit Kore Project?

The Grit Kore Project is a collaborative effort uniting coaches, mental health professionals, athletic trainers, and sports nutritionists. Our mission? To help kids and teens grow stronger—mentally and physically—by giving them tools to develop grit, character, and resilience through consistent, daily practices.

We call it “earning grit”—a mindset that encourages young athletes to work on both their bodies and their minds every single day.

And the best part? It’s completely free.

Why Grit Kore Exists: A Personal Story Behind the Mission

The Grit Kore Project was born from a personal place. After experiencing several tragic losses in our local hockey community—and watching my own children begin their youth hockey journey—I saw firsthand how much the culture had changed.

What used to be a fun, character-building experience led by volunteer coaches has become transactional. Rankings, tryouts, private coaching—it all adds up, financially and emotionally. What was once about love for the game is now about chasing results. And that’s taken a toll on kids and families alike.

The Code—the unwritten values of sport like hard work, respect, integrity, and resilience—is being lost.

We created Grit Kore to defend that Code and bring it back to the center of youth sports.

Free Tools for Athletes: Daily Mental & Physical Workouts

Not every family can afford elite coaching or access to top-tier training. But every kid deserves a shot at success and self-belief.

That’s why we offer:

• Daily mindset exercises to build mental toughness and emotional regulation.
• Strength and conditioning workouts for young athletes at all levels.
• Hockey-specific training tips to grow confidence and improve performance.
• Ongoing encouragement from a community of professionals and mentors who care.

Whether a child is on a travel team or just getting started, Grit Kore gives them the tools to keep showing up, growing stronger, and learning to “Find A Way.”

Join the Movement: Calling All Coaches & Experts

Are you a coach, therapist, nutritionist, or trainer who wants to make a difference in the lives of young athletes?

We’re looking for like-minded professionals to contribute content, design exercises, or share encouragement with our community. If you can help us expand this free resource, we’ll feature your work on our website and social media—and proudly tag and credit you.

Let’s grow this mission together. Let’s build a culture that supports all kids, not just the ones who can pay for it.

Final Thoughts: This Is Our Promise. This Is Grit Kore.

The Grit Kore Project is more than just a free training platform. It’s a movement to bring heart, grit, and values back into youth sports—especially hockey.

We believe in giving kids tools to manage stress, overcome challenges, and become stronger human beings. And we believe in doing it without putting financial pressure on families.

This is our promise. This us. This is Grit Kore.

The post The Grit Kore Project: A Community for Youth Athlete Development, Resilience and Confidence first appeared on Grit Kore.

I’d talk to him now and then, just in passing. But there was always something different about him, something you couldn’t quite name. He was enigmatic, less like a player grinding reps and more like an artist shaping something original. His creativity didn’t just show up in the kind of highlight-reel moments we’re used to now, those tightly edited snapshots we scroll through on mini reels. It was in the pauses, the transitions, the plays that effortlessly shifted the direction of the game, moments no one else even noticed, turning tight corners into openings and creating opportunities out of situations that looked dead. It drew me in.

I couldn’t stop thinking about it. What was he seeing that others didn’t? I kept circling one question: Where does creativity in hockey actually live?

From Basics to Breakthroughs

There are no skill sessions, no YouTube trick, no blog sentence that will plant creativity in a player’s heart. Trust me, I’ve looked. I’ve spent years digging into player creativity from every possible angle: as a goalie, a coach, and a curious observer of how artistry shows up in sports. I studied the mindset of artists, inventors, and master craftsmen. I dove into cognitive science, learning how the brain builds patterns and where creative insight originates in our thoughts. It took years of reading, exploring, failing, and connecting dots across disciplines.

The turning point for me was On Creativity by David Bohm. His core idea stuck with me: real creativity isn’t about being unpredictable, it emerges from mastering the fundamentals so deeply they become second nature, almost invisible. As Bohm wrote, “Creativity emerges as a result of a mind that is in a state of normal order, not from a deliberate effort to achieve it.” His core idea stuck with me: real creativity emerges from mastering the fundamentals so deeply they become second nature, almost invisible.

That’s Alex. He didn’t just skate; he felt axes, angles, empty spaces. He internalized hockey’s grammar so deeply he could rewrite it mid‑play.

The Teammate Joke & the Artist Lens

Now how does an artist like Alex connect with the team, with The Code of hockey? I’ll own this, when I asked a handful of buddies who played pro hockey about hockey culture, I joked that maybe Alex “didn’t know he had teammates and performed more like a solo artist.” But that was from viewing him through the traditional lens. When I shifted my view, I saw him not just as an artist, but as the front man of a band, or better yet, the conductor of an orchestra—I understood.

He wasn’t ignoring the team. He was interpreting the game on a different frequency, one where the structure of hockey became the framework for improvisation, not limitation. He was playing a version of the game we hadn’t even imagined, pushing boundaries, searching for deeper connections, creating harmony from chaos. His style wasn’t about standing apart; it was about pulling everyone into the rhythm, teammates and spectators alike. Instead of just exuding style, he wove it into the fabric of the team’s movement, drawing others into the flow of his vision and elevating the collective game.” I understood. He was playing a version of the game we hadn’t even imagined, pushing boundaries, and searching for connections.

The Sun, the Stars & Hockey Vision

Let’s visualize this. Imagine a night sky inside every player’s mind. Each star is a building block of hockey—skating, passing, timing, positioning. The sun (skill) illuminates those stars. It powers the ability to see the constellations of hockey plays, more patterns, more possibilities. 

When a player only focuses on gaining skill, they’re staring directly at the sun. And when the sun is that big and that bright, there’s not much else to see—just the intense glare of the skills they’re chasing. In other words, the stars are harder to see and the constellations, hockey plays and connections between the stars, are fainter.  

What separates the artist from the rest isn’t just the skill, it’s the ability to look up, look around, and take in the full 360-degree view. To notice the constellations, to see how those stars connect, to recognize the new opportunities that skill has now made possible.

Alex stared at that hockey night sky and trained to push the edges. He didn’t just solve the play in front of him; he asked, “Which new skill would change how I see this play altogether?” His motivation to learn new moves always came with purpose. It wasn’t, “how many tricks can I collect?” but, “what play can I make now that I couldn’t make before?”

Don’t Chase Tricks—See the Whole Ice

That mindset is light years away from the youth sports treadmill, where kids chase moves just to make the team. When you chase skill without purpose, you risk ignoring the constellations. You stare at the sun so long, you forget the stars—the plays, the creativity. And when that happens, even the flashiest moves get hollow fast.

But here’s the thing: how many kids are really going to be an artist like Alex? What are the odds that today’s players reach that level of vision and ability?

Let’s hit the cold math:

• Bleacher Report places Alex (AK27) among the Top 6 skill players since 1967.
• Say, generously, there’s one “Kovalev-level” talent per birth year.
• Worldwide players per birth year: ~138,600.
• NHL hopefuls per birth year: ~123.
• That gives ~0.09% chance to reach the NHL.
• To be Kovalev-level? ~0.0007%.

It’s a bleak but accurate assessment: your child statistically has a better shot at being struck by lightning and winning the Stanley Cup than becoming another AK27.

So why do we obsess over skill as if it’s the finish line? A beautiful move that loses the puck is still a turnover. An “ugly” heads-up play will still win the moment. Seeing the wholeness of the game-how the rink’s geography, the game’s rules and momentum flow together can’t be imparted at a skills session.  And these attributes are just as, or more important, than the jump-stop dangle against an inanimate object.  

A Parent’s Call: See the Stars First

Before you decide your kid “needs more skill,” ask why they play. To win early? Make the A team? Keep pace? Or because they love the game, enough to look up and see the constellations?

Creativity comes from a passion that makes them want to figure out how to truly see the game and discover new constellations.

If we want smarter players, creative, instinctive, high‑IQ players, we must stoke the fire first. The rest follows. Help them:

1. Fuel passion: Learn skills to reveal the infinite sky.
2. Chase meaningful skills: Grow the sun to reveal more stars.
3. Connect dots:  Create, don’t just replicate.

If there’s one common denominator in Alex’s game, it’s passion. His obsession with how things worked at the tiniest level gave him freedom to create in ways others couldn’t. In his own words, he didn’t want to play like those who came before, he wanted to reshape the game entirely.

If passion was the spark, and skill the tool he used to expand his vision, then we need to rethink how we guide our kids. Why do we push skill before nurturing curiosity? 

Find. A. Way

Greg

The post Alex Kovalev and the Spark of Hockey Creativity first appeared on Grit Kore.