Hey Reader, hope you can see this!
I was driving home the other night when the fog rolled in thick and heavy, the kind that swallows the road two car lengths at a time. My first instinct was to flip on the high beams, thinking I could force my way to clarity. Instead, the glare bounced right back at me, scattering the light and making everything harder to see. The more I tried to overpower the fog, the worse it got. I finally clicked back to low beams, slowed my pace, and let my eyes adjust. It was not perfect, but it was enough to move forward.
And it got me thinking....
Sports can feel a lot like that fog. The game tightens, mistakes pile up, and the instinct for athletes, coaches, and even parents is to push harder, shout louder, and force focus. We throw more intensity at the problem, hoping to see clearer. But often, all we create is glare. Athletes rush decisions, coaches overload with instructions, and parents add pressure from the sideline. Just like those high beams, the energy meant to help ends up making it harder to navigate.
I have seen it many times. A player misses two serves, and the parent voice in the stands grows sharper. A coach responds to a bad practice by layering on another drill, more sprints, louder corrections. And the athlete, already fogged in with nerves, loses sight of the path forward. That glare of intensity rarely clears the road. It just makes the fog denser.
The real skill is learning to trust the low beams. For an athlete, that might mean taking one breath to reset, letting the shoulders drop, and focusing on a single cue instead of five. In my podcast Building Confidence for Success, I talked about how confidence grows not from trying to do everything at once, but from stacking small, steady choices that build belief. Low beams do the same. They keep you moving, one clear marker at a time.
For a coach, low beams might mean fewer words, not more. In an earlier newsletter, The What vs The How, I wrote about the importance of not just teaching content, but teaching the process of how to learn. That lesson applies here, too. When the fog sets in, athletes do not need more noise. They need clarity. Sometimes the best coaching cue is three words before a rep, then silence while they figure it out.
Parents are part of this as well. In The Last Time You Had Fun on the Mental Cast, I shared how easily joy gets crowded out when everything feels like pressure. The sideline is one of the places where low beams matter most. Instead of barking corrections, match the calm. Trust that your presence and steady encouragement clear the way far more than frantic energy ever could.
What makes the low beam approach powerful is that it slows everything down without stopping momentum. It is steady. It is patient. It allows athletes to find rhythm rather than scramble for control. And it creates the space for perspective. In another podcast, "Benefits of Losing," I discussed how setbacks can actually become opportunities for growth if we resist the urge to overreact. Losing feels like fog. But with low beams, patience, presence, and a willingness to adjust, you can see just enough to take the next step.
The next time you feel yourself in the fog, whether on the field, in the classroom, or even at home, notice your instinct. Are you reaching for the high beams, trying to blast your way through? Or can you trust the low beams, ease off the gas, and give yourself and others space to see clearly again?
Because in sports and in life, the low beams usually get us there faster.