How Good Can You Be?

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On a sunny afternoon in January 2009, I walked out to the outfield warning track at my junior college baseball field.

My sophomore season was a few weeks away, and I needed some time alone.

The previous four years of my baseball career had mostly been a frustrating disappointment.

Entering my sophomore year of high school, I was one of the more “promising” prospects in my area. I had expectations of getting a Division I scholarship in three years, or potentially getting drafted.

But nothing really went as planned.

While I was a two-way (pitcher and hitter) varsity starter my sophomore, junior and senior years and had some great moments, overall I had three disappointing seasons. 

At the plate, I was inconsistent. On the mound, I fought my mechanics and didn’t develop like I hoped. We had three different head coaches in three years. It was a tough environment.

I can be too hard on myself, but if you asked me to summarize my high school career in one word, I would say: Failure.

After graduation, I decided to go the junior college route, enrolling at Long Beach (CA) City College 45 minutes away. 

Some guys I played summer ball with the previous two years were going there, and their attitudes were totally different than what I had been exposed to. 

I needed a complete reset and figured that would be the best environment for it.

My freshman college season was good. I made several starts on the mound and pitched big innings out of the bullpen. Most importantly, I was getting better

But I still carried this massive weight on my shoulders.

That’s the weight I lugged out to the warning track on that January day to wrestle with.

After an hour of running, from foul pole to foul pole, I stopped and had a little conversation with myself.

The conversation went like this:

This is your last junior college season. It may be the last chance you get to play baseball in your life. 

And if it is, that’s okay. 

But you owe yourself something.

Since you were 5 years old, you’ve played baseball for someone else. First, it was to make Dad proud. Then as you got to high school, it was for college and pro scouts. You played for their approval. You played to get a scholarship or an opportunity to chase your professional dream.

You have never – not a single season in your life – played simply for your own satisfaction. Your own joy. Your own sense of accomplishment.

So, if this ends up being the last season you ever play, you owe it to yourself to play for yourself.

Drop the external expectations. Stop playing for someone else’s approval.

And play just to see how good you can be.

Just like that, the entire weight was lifted.

I went on to have the best season of my life that spring.

I was named First Team All-Conference, helped our team win a Conference Championship and got a chance to play the following year at the University of North Carolina, fulfilling my Division I dream.

Here’s what I want you to take from my story:

All of us “play” for others’ approval at times in life.

Maybe we’re getting these fancy degrees so our parents brag about us. Maybe we’re building the business to prove to someone we can be successful. Maybe we’re doing our job hoping “leadership” notices and we get promoted. Maybe we’re wasting money on material things so our friends will be impressed.

Whatever the context, it’s an unhealthy weight to carry.

If we are to become the fullest versions of the people God made us each to be, our motivations for doing things must be pure.

Only then will we find out how good we can be.

And in this one life, we owe that to ourselves.

P.S. My junior college head coach, Casey Crook, retired this past spring after 32 seasons. Here’s the announcement article, which captures a little about who he is.

Coach Crook, you’ll probably never see this newsletter. But if you do, thank you for the impact you had on me.

Thanks for reading.

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Have a great week, y’all.

Teddy is the author of The Process. Reach out on LinkedIn or X, or reply to this email.