From Driveway Goodbyes to Friday Night Lights
The day started the way some of my favorite days do.
I was in the driveway with my son, Leo, loading up the truck. He was splashing through water, fascinated by the sound, the movement, the truck, the whole scene. We said our goodbyes, hugged, high-fived, and I watched him head back inside.
Then I got in the truck and headed to Westfield High School, home of the Shamrocks.
The mission that morning was simple and serious:
Speak to their freshman football team
Help them define their personal standard
Address the impostor syndrome that comes with being a freshman
Talk about the unseen hours that separate average from elite
This work is not about a single speech. It is about planting seeds that will grow for years.
Stepping Into a New Community
Our family recently moved back to the Indianapolis area, and I am very intentional about being part of the community where I live.
So our team reached out to multiple high schools, sending emails and videos to athletic departments and coaches. Out of all of those, two schools responded right away:
Westfield High School
Carmel High School
Westfield invited me to speak to their freshman team. Carmel asked me to address their entire program, roughly 220 players and some of their families, in the auditorium.
I do not need things to be glamorous to make an impact. Put me at the 50-yard line on a practice field or in a packed auditorium. The message is the same:
Your standard matters more than your feelings.
Talking to Freshmen: Comparison, Identity, and the Unseen Hours
When I walked into the Westfield facility to meet the freshman coaches, I could feel the opportunity. Freshman athletes are at a crossroads. They are not kids anymore, and they are not yet upperclassmen. The identity shift is real.
I introduced myself to the team and addressed the obvious immediately:
I was born with a limb difference because my mother was a heroin addict and chose to use drugs while pregnant. This arm is the result of that decision.
I clear that up early so no one sits distracted, wondering what happened. Then we can move on to what really matters.
Here is what I told them.
Do Not Compare Your Day One to Someone Else’s Day 1,000
Freshmen love to compare themselves to seniors.
The size
The speed
The confidence
The playing time
I reminded them of a simple truth:
“Do not compare your day one to someone else’s day 1,000.”
Comparison is the thief of joy and the fastest way to destroy momentum. A freshman should measure progress against who he was yesterday, not against a senior who has four years of work, maturity, and reps behind him.
Why Are You Really Playing This Game?
I challenged them to think deeply about why they are on that field.
Is it:
A pathway out of town?
A way to earn a scholarship?
A way to stay out of a chaotic home?
A way to belong to something bigger than yourself?
For me, football was stability. My mother was a drug addict. Team sports were the only structure that made sense. The only adults I could consistently count on were my coaches.
I did not ask them to raise their hands, but I told them this:
If football is the only place that feels safe, then pour yourself into that environment. Respect your coaches. Respect your teammates. Use the game as a vehicle to become the man you are supposed to be.
Standard Over Feelings and the Unseen Hours
We ended with a concept I teach often: standard over feelings.
Your feelings will tell you to skip practice.
Your feelings will tell you to coast through drills.
Your feelings will tell you that today does not matter.
Your standard tells you to:
Show up
Do the work
Execute your assignment
Be accountable to your brothers
Then we talked about the unseen hours:
The extra work no one is clapping for.
The reps when the field is empty
The film you watch when your friends are playing video games
The push-ups, the sprints, the recovery you do when no one watches
High performers in business and sports look very similar. It is how they show up in those unseen hours that separates them.
Carmel High School: Regret, Reality, and Raising the Standard
Later, it was Carmel’s turn.
Carmel High School is a powerhouse program with around 220 players in the room. Freshmen through seniors. Some parents. A big stage and big expectations.
My main theme for them was the same: standard over feelings. But the story I used came from my own regret.
The Night I Realized I Sold Myself Short
I took them back to October 1989.
I was in the locker room at Bishop Moore Catholic High School in Orlando, getting ready for the last game of my senior season. Old-school equipment. Huge shoulder pads. Unsafe helmets. Arms locked with my teammates. Walking out under the lights.
The band played. The crowd roared. The announcer called out, “Here come the Hornets.”
And then… everything went quiet.
Not around me, but inside me.
All I could hear were the voices of regret:
The sprints I did not finish
The practices where I went half-speed
The days I was just happy to be on the team
As a one-armed player at a time before social media, I thought I was the only one like me. I believed that just making the team was enough.
I did not realize that by setting such a low goal, I was putting a ceiling on what I could become. I had accepted membership when I should have been chasing mastery.
I told the team:
“I was part of the 25/25 club. Down by 25, with 25 seconds left, they put me in. I did not earn the right to be on the field more than that.”
The highlight of my high school career was a single play at the Citrus Bowl:
We were getting beat badly.
We kicked off once.
The ball got knocked loose, bounced into my chest, and I ran it back 50 yards for a touchdown.
That was it. That was the moment.
Not because I was not capable of more, but because I had never demanded more of myself on a consistent basis.
How You Show Up Now Shapes Who You Become Later
I asked those players a hard question:
Are you doing what I did?
Are you just happy you made the team?
Have you already put a ceiling on yourself?
Because the way you approach this game will follow you into:
Your career
Your relationships
Your responsibilities as a man
If you are satisfied with “just enough” here, you will be satisfied with “just enough” out there.
A Tough Question From a Player About My Son
During the Q&A, one player raised his hand and asked:
“How did you overcome your son passing?”
I told him the truth.
I have not “overcome” it, and I never will. That is not how grief works.
What I have done is learn to live with it and draw strength from it.
Losing my son CJ changed everything. I walked away from a corporate job that I loved because I knew I was meant to have a different impact. That pain pushed me into the work I do now, into rooms like this, with young athletes who need more than just a motivational quote.
Adversity does not disqualify you. It shapes you.
It is a requirement for doing meaningful work in the world.
Impact as a Standard
When the talk ended, I stayed as long as I could.
Players lined up to shake hands, say thank you, ask questions. Coaches stayed behind to connect. Parents pulled me aside to share their own stories.
My word for the year is impact.
That night, I felt fully aligned with it.
Celebrating Others: A Barber Shop, a Book, and a Beard
The next morning, before flying out to Las Vegas, we drove 40 minutes to visit Smitty’s Barber Shop on the south side of Indianapolis.
Dustin Smith used to be my barber back when I had hair. He has now opened his own place, and I wanted to support that.
We mic’d him up, sat in the chair, and did what you do in a barber shop:
Talked about family
Laughed about the past
Celebrated what he has built
I brought him a signed copy of my book and let him clean up my beard and shave my head before the next round of speaking and travel.
You cannot say you are about impact and then ignore the people in your own circle who are stepping out in faith and doing something hard.
Forward Event in Las Vegas: Refilling the Tank
From there, it was off to Las Vegas for the Forward event.
Forward is one of the few events I attend consistently. The energy is unlike anything else I experience all year. It feels like a reunion of high achievers, entrepreneurs, and leaders who are all pushing to grow.
During the trip, I made sure of a few things:
I kept training for my HYROX event, even on the road. That is my standard.
I carved out time to buy Leo a couple of new pairs of Crocs because he has outgrown his old ones.
I capitalized on opportunities, including recording a podcast during the lunch break for the LFG podcast with Arjun Dingra.
Forward is not just about the main stage speakers, but they did deliver. Dan Martell brought powerful, practical insight as always. Cody Sanchez came in and dropped huge value on buying businesses and building wealth. The final keynote was one of the best I have ever seen, complete with drums and a closing that had the entire crowd electric.
But for me, the biggest value comes from:
The relationships in the VIP room
The hallway conversations
The chance to refine and expand my own frameworks, including the Adversity Paradigm
Events like this are where I fill my own backpack with new tools, ideas, and fuel so I can go back out and pour into others.
Standard Over Feelings, On Every Stage
Whether I am:
Saying goodbye to Leo in the driveway
Speaking to freshmen on a high school practice field
Addressing 220 players and parents in an auditorium
Sitting in a barber’s chair
Training in a hotel gym for a race that scares me
Or taking notes in the back of a massive conference hall
The same principles apply:
Standard over feelings.
Impact over ego.
Unseen hours over public image.
Adversity as a requirement, not an excuse.
If you are an athlete, a parent, a leader, or a business owner, I want you to hear this clearly:
You control how you show up.
You define your standard.
You decide whether adversity breaks you or builds you.
No one else can do that work for you.
Your job is to decide who you want to become, set a standard that matches that future version of yourself, and then live that standard every day, especially when you do not feel like it.
That is where the real wins live.
