I was 15 when my dad handed me a book: “The Mental Game of Baseball.” It changed my life immediately.

Just kidding… I didn’t read it.

Instead, I told him I did, and just continued on playing how I did before — inconsistently, lacking confidence, fearing failure and getting benched, etc.

It’s the rare 15 year old who can be handed a book, being told “you need to read this… it will change everything,” who actually reads it. I definitely wasn’t him.

Instead, I thought I had it all figured out, and would, by dint of being me, would just find myself in the big leagues after getting a full-ride scholarship to college (neither of which happened).

It wasn’t until the summer before my (super) senior year in college that I finally faced reality: I’m not as good as I thought I was… and I don’t, the way I’ve been playing, have a good chance of playing pro-ball.

In my exit meeting with my coaches, it was even questionable whether I would be an everyday starter on the team for my final college season. I broke down in front of my coaches, started talking about some of the confidence issues I was having, and how it was affecting me even beyond baseball.

Baseball was my identity, and I saw the end of the road coming fast.

That’s when Coach Kirakedes, with whom I had a very close player/coach relationship, offered up a book that “will change everything”: “Mind Gym” by Gary Mack. I was ready for a book recommendation after pouring my heart out — and it actually did change everything (or at least appeared that way).

The Old Man

My dad was almost 50 when I was born.

So, growing up, I always had the older dad, when some of my friends had really young, cool dads.

While one of my best friends dads was driving us around in his BMW M5, showing us how to get the back end to come loose on loose gravel and regaining control, my dad was the one always trying to mitigate risk and think through the long-term impact of our decisions.

For much of my adolescence, I wished for my dad to be more fun, less of a stick in the mud, and be a little less serious about things.

But our relationship always centered around baseball.

For nearly a decade (8-18 years old), we would do “drilllies” almost every day — either in our garage with a tee and a pocket net, or in the batting cage he built in our back yard out of 2x4s, 4x4s, a large commercial fishing net, some I-Bolts, and some zip ties.

The foundation of our relationship, day-to-day, was baseball.

There was always friction, like with any dad/son duo in sports: he would offer suggestions, point out errors — and of course, I wanted to hear none of it.

But he was by my side every step of the way —coaching travel ball teams, coming to every high school practice and game, and traveling around the country to watch hundreds of college baseball games.

He always talked about his college baseball and college football experiences, saying “there’s nothing like it. I think about it every day.”

He wanted to see me have that experience, while re-living it vicariously through me. He transitioned from being my coach to supportive parent and avid fan of William & Mary baseball — like any good parent does.

The Mental Game

I didn’t get drafted and put my baseball gear away after that (super) senior year of baseball — but I was at peace because, on some level, I had conquered some of the demons that led me to break down with my coaches in my penultimate exit meeting, with the lessons from “Mind Gym.”

It was on me to show up to important moments the right way. Right breathing, right self talk, etc. And there are skills that can be learned and constantly adapted… the mental game.

Here’s what I took away: I’d been ceding agency by not having an intentional mental sequence to hone my focus on the only things that matter in the moment — while maintaining body relaxation.

I let other people live rent free in my head, which would literally lead to unwanted spasms in my muscles when trying to hit, throw, or catch a ball.

I just wanted the pressure moment to end — and rushing and tightening up is an effort to escape the moment.

The alternative are the athletes who bathe in the pressure and flow into a higher gear.

Personally, I had, at the very least, taken ownership of how to approach high pressure situations, being intentional with self-talk, breathing, and improving the skill of maintaining body-relaxation (rather than tension) when competing — wanting those moments.

I’d gained a valuable insight about the mental game that transcended baseball, and I was ready to take that into the rest of my life. (I just didn’t know what the rest of my life would look like).

Illness and Change

Like any transition point, I didn’t have very good direction of where I was headed after baseball — so I moved back home and became roommates with my dad again.

Rather than being the militant, overbearing dad I would have expected, he was patient and generous with his wayward, listless son, letting me explore different job options: grocery bagger, personal trainer, and inside sales rep.

But then he got sick, and I became his primary helper around the house: cooking, helping with basic things, etc.

His illness was called Idiopathic Pulmonary Fibrosis — or, lung scarring with unknown origin.

Over the course of 2-ish years, he went from active, and vibrant — to wheelchair-bound with oxygen tanks… until his heart gave out on January 5, 2019.

In the 2.5 years we were roommates, what was already an incredibly close father-son relationship got even closer.

At the time of his death, I was still trying to find my way.

I had gotten engaged to my (now) wife, whom he adored, but I was professionally doing what he called “piece-work,” which he advised against.

As an accomplished surgeon, he wanted me on a path — but wasn’t pushing me into a path that wasn’t right.

He wanted me to hunt and find the best path for myself. Of the categories in my life, I had a great relationship, a great family, my health, great friends, but still had professional uncertainty.

Finding Paths

I felt pressure to start what I’ve heard called a “shadow career” (or something that is, at a soul-level, draining) or to go down a more exploratory path. With his patience, his guidance, and the lessons learned from digging into the “mental game,” I stuck with the exploratory path, which I’m still on today, with iterative success.

In his absence, I feel even more connection to the lessons he tried to impart in my 15 year old brain that I ultimately came around to at age 22.

He planted the seeds early, but I wasn’t ready to water those seeds until I came to the realization myself. It took me crying in front of my coaches, and the advice of someone close (but not as close as my dad) to me to finally penetrate my stubborn mind.

It took my own authentic reasons to ultimately spark the change for which I was yearning. Baseball can be a lonely sport because at some point, it’s only you up there.

Many times, I crumbled under that pressure. I think back to flyballs dropped, throws airmailed, 0-2 buried sliders swung at and still feel the deep pain and shame.

The tricky part of it is as much as we want being fearful, not wanting to fail, trying really hard, being cautious to work… as in, leading to good outcomes, it never is. It takes a leap of faith — whether using actual faith in God or faith in yourself (or both) — to getting to the place where you play carefree and with aggression.

It takes being proactive from the get-go.

And that starts in our mind.

And if you’re intentional about it, you can trigger these better states at will. In a sense, baseball teaches you to own your shit — do what you can with it.

Wasted Potential

My dad hated wasted potential.

I think that’s what made him such a great little league coach. He cared so much — and he loved kids.

He saw me wasting my potential through stubbornness and fear and tried to, like any good dad, offer solutions for where I was failing — but I wasn’t ready to listen. (And hey… maybe that’s just life).

But when I finally did learn some of the lessons he tried to teach me, it brought us closer. Not that he changed — I wanted to start to be more like him.

I respected him even more and saw him with a different perspective. He had already crossed the finish line of a very successful and respectable career, while I was delaying at the starting line. He always had a warm heart, a curious mind, and knew what was important to him — and made the most of it.

And as I sit here now, I’ve got kids of my own, whom he never met, and I think about how much he would love his granddaughters — and how much they’d adore him.

It make me sad — but it also makes me want to spend more time with them and be the father to them that I had.

Because I see examples of really bad parents far too often, and I can’t believe how lucky I was to have a mentor and leader like him. It makes me want to always play “the game” better.

The Space Left Behind

Hanging up the spikes obviously left a void — but I’ve managed to fill it.

I think that’s the ‘mental game’ beyond the sports we grow up playing. The mental game beyond baseball (for me) required finding something that activates me to the level to which I’d grown accustomed.

I was trying to find direction, purpose, and meaning, themselves.

I just wanted to care about something — have similar drive — as I did playing college ball.

I hear too often about ‘missions’ and ‘identity’ — but not too much about how to actually bring them to the real world.

They’re great to talk about, but implementation, for me, was always the tricky part.

But Jordan Peterson’s Future Authoring program was monumental for me.

Simple concept: you can make a plan for your future, and it can be a really exciting plan. But you have to make that plan.

So I made a bad plan for the future. (I wanted to be an online coach specializing in peak physical and mental performance for youth athletes. In short, building a digital business to maximize freedom and earnings.)

Things didn’t go as planned — but I tried and learned some things.

So I made another plan, and another, and another.

I’ve shifted the aims, but there is a common thread that ties back to the first plan, which ties back to my dad and baseball days.

Things change as the landscape changes. One of my big goals entering 2020 was competing in the IBJJF nationals jiu jitsu competition…

Also, the rough truth, is that human rhythms and challenges get in the way, too. My planning brain always underestimates the obstacles and challenges, so I’ve been defeated by my own weakness, laziness, lack of discipline, etc.

It’s all happened… but I can accept that that’s just part of it, too. If someone gets through life never losing to ourselves, good on them. But that’s not me. Notice it, accept it, be ready to eat some shit, and continue on.

Self-Help Short-Sightedness

This, I think, is the shortcoming of the self-help space. Tactical ideas ultimately mean nothing if the seed (the strategy, the purpose, the plan, the ‘why’) isn’t there.

And like baseball, it can be a lonely game trying to figure that out. At some point, you have to own your shit.

But I’ve gotten a lot out of reading a lot of those books. The sum total of lessons taken can arm you with really useful ideas, but each book (that sells itself as “the one thing that will change everything”… because it needs to sell) isn’t going to change everything for the better.

So back to the strategy layer. The Future Authoring program walked me through building my own life strategy — a long term aiming point.

And that bring us here.

I want to continue carrying the torch my dad carried: mastering the mental game.

But beyond sports, what does that mean?

What are we optimizing for when success is harder to define? Money? Status? Prestige?

Mental Game Harsh Truths

I think one of the first problems to solve when thinking about the mental game is precisely what we view as success. It’s tricky, especially when we have to deal with inauthentic aims — whether adopted unconsciously or by trying to appease someone else. Authentic aims take work to uncover.

That work brings me back to “Mind Gym,” because it took years for the ideas in the book to fully develop in how I approach what I do. I think this goes for just about everything: It takes longer than we expect, it will need more effort, and the payoff will be different (not necessarily worse… but different).

And that’s OK.

Being nimble, adaptable, tough, and curious is more important than a perfect plan — or perfect protocols.

Laboratory of the Self

I’ve always loved the idea of “The Laboratory of the Self.”

Rather than accepting our conscious experience as I am in 100% control of everything I do (which is silly), I think we are more a mystery to ourselves than we are not.

Thus, we can study ourselves, learn from what we notice, take it back to the lab, and iteratively improve.

To me, this is the game of life.

If we know what makes us tick, know where our weaknesses are, know what we’re passionate about, our skill level, experience, etc. then I think we can put ourselves in a position where we can say:

“It takes work… you’ve done the work… just be.”

That is true freedom to me. The childlike ability to unabashedly be.

Flow Marks Meaning

I think this is what flow states are — and flow states are a marker of meaning in life. The experience is something athletes talk about with reverence. “Have you ever been in the zone?” Sometimes, it just happens. Things slow down, get quiet, and calm. And we perform at our best. I believe we can be intentional about how we think and what we do to the point where we can trigger flow states — which is a signal of ‘mastering the mental game.’

And this is the inspiration behind the MindLab app.

This is going to be a deep dive into various topics that hang off this one common theme: Knowing yourself, having a plan, and mastering the mental game.

As a final coda, I believe any good mission or plan transcends the individual.

Much of my past failure has come from selfishness. I am looking at something through the myopic view of “how will this impact me?”

The Bigger Picture

The mental game, if anything, is complex and unique to each person.

…it’s also tough to really work with something so abstract.

Which is why I built MindLab. MindLab’s approach: the mental game is a winnable one. And we can approach it systematically, which MindLab walks you through — day after day.

Think of it as a life planner & productivity tool designed to maximize flow states through being razor-sharp with the mental game of life.

Nothing new under the sun…

Everything in MindLab is derived from others’ work (Jim Collins, Lanny Bassham, Gary Mack, Cal Newport, Jordan Peterson, Jocko, David Allen, Rob Bailey, etc.).

What is new is the one system where they all come together in a singular system.