For nearly three years, my life has been what could only be described as one wild ride. It has taken me to new horizons—places I could have never come close to imagining. This chapter has brought me pain, joy, and most importantly, hope, and it would be nothing without the people whose dedication and compassion helped me live through it all. Thank you.

Steady cruising,

Jared Lee Hager

 

The following story begins on April 4th, 2019…

 

I

Geoff Rowley is an international legend who also happens to be a dear friend. He frequently asks my twin brother, Cody, and I to be present for his attempts at challenging maneuvers in the outlandish world sport known as skateboarding. He is no young man, but he is youthful and fearless. Cody and I help him build objects, design paths, and test out terrain he’s about to embark on.

 

II

Alongside Geoff, I prepared for a successful day in Palm Springs, starting at 4:00AM. I was running on no sleep, and talking like a madman during what should have been a quiet drive of preparation. For whatever reason, I kept saying “double black diamond.” We got to the skate spot, and without hesitation, I grabbed the camera gear the media men needed help with and a big jug of water and prepared myself for fate. I thought: I got this—I didn’t even look at the mountain before me. To this day, I don’t remember how it looked jumping down that massive hillside. While bombing the steepness, Cody and Geoff yelled “Stop! Abort!”

III

Now begins my journey. As I powerslide, a back wheel ceases and shoots me into torment. The second roll pitches me straight up, banging my head the whole way down. My control is gone. Everything else is now a vague recollection—I’m pretty much dead. My brother gives me CPR and Anthony Acosta immediately calls 911.

 

IV

Somehow, I got up out of the ditch to the fence where the EMTs were waiting. When I made it to the Desert Regional Hospital, they told Cody he could come back in a few hours to pick me up. When he arrived back from Long Beach, the surgeon met him in the parking lot. Cody had to sign my life away because I had two hematomas in my brain and it was swelling to a deadly scale. I was in a medically induced coma when they removed the blood clots and took a massive piece of my skull out. At times, they had to pack me with ice because my fever wasn’t going down. My mom drove straight from Oregon, terrified, and waited with my two brothers and previous girlfriend, Maggie, for two weeks, just hoping I was going to survive.

V

During my recovery, my memory was like a movie cutting in and out. I somehow escaped into the desert, completely surprised I didn’t fall on a rock and become coyote food. Twice. The first moment I remember while awake was my mom walking around the hospital room. “Hey mom,” I said, with a big smile. She looked shocked, with great happiness in her eyes, and at that moment, I knew that I was going to be okay. Maggie even brought my little chihuahua, Captain, and the two of them camped out with me as I recovered.   

 

VI

I dreamed about walking through a beautiful ballroom with walls colored like Himalayan sea salt. There was a wonderful party going on, like that of a casino with no gambling, just joyful people congregating and embracing the moment. While wandering around, I looked over and there with me was old blue eyes himself, Frank Sinatra. He looked as classic as ever, just smiling as we strolled through what seemed to be his shindig. There was a giant hole in the wall that revealed a golden desert with brilliant stars shining above infinity. The concept of death became a thought—Sinatra looked at me as though he was telling me to go where I needed to be. Maggie told me that he once owned and donated the building we were at to the city of Palm Springs, in order for it to become a hospital. Even when I was finally released, the main entrance looked exactly how my dream did.

VII

The next two and a half years were spent with half of a skull. Good friends quickly learned to get used to it. Personal acceptance wasn’t so easy, but I did my best to keep positive. Challenges were around every corner. I kept working on skate projects with Cody, despite the inevitable afternoon naps from seizure medication. We built a beautiful bowl for the incredible skate shop, Babylon—founder and fellow big dreamer Lee Spielman allowed Cody and I to dive into what we love and give back to other creatives.

I spent some time in Joshua Tree with the McMillan brothers at their property, building anything Mike’s creative mind spat out. It was a peaceful time. As the summer crept up, I retreated to the Sequoia mountains to a sacred place: the YMCA skate camp, hanging out with the wonderful counselors and kids who inspired me to continue practicing gratitude. The campers tripped out over my oddly-shaped head, and I would tell them about the importance of safety in skateboarding. I ran a program that taught them the process of how skateboards are made. Being up there in such a tough time really helped strengthen my self-worth.