Hi Reader, every week something ordinary gets stuck in my head. This week was no different.
I don't remember the title of my first Choose Your Own Adventure book. I couldn't tell you whether it was about pirates, hidden treasure, a haunted house, or a trip through outer space. I just remember bringing it home from the school book fair. Back then, the book fair was a pretty big deal. For one week every year, the library transformed into what felt like the greatest bookstore on earth. I'd walk through those shelves with a few crumpled dollar bills in my pocket, trying to figure out how many books I could stretch them into. I usually came home with a sports biography, maybe a joke book, and if I had enough money left, one of those adventures.
The concept fascinated me. Instead of simply reading the story, I got to become part of it. Every few pages the book would stop and hand me a decision. If I wanted to climb into the cave, I turned to one page. If I wanted to keep walking through the forest, I turned to another. Every choice promised a completely different adventure, and for a ten-year-old kid, that was about as cool as it got.
It didn't take me very long to develop my own strategy. Whenever I reached one of those decision points, I'd keep one finger on the page I was reading while quietly flipping ahead just enough to see what happened next. I wasn't trying to spoil the whole story. I just wanted to make sure I wasn't about to choose the page where everything fell apart. If it looked like the monster was waiting around the corner or the bridge was about to collapse, I'd go back and choose the other option instead.
Looking back, I don't think I was really reading the story anymore.
I was spending more time trying to avoid the wrong choice than enjoying the adventure itself.
...and it got me thinking.
Lately, it feels like I've been surrounded by people looking for page numbers. Spend a few minutes around youth sports this time of year and you'll hear it almost immediately. Parents are trying to decide whether their child should play National or American. Athletes are wondering if they should specialize now or wait another year. Families debate whether they should change clubs, hire another trainer, sign up for another recruiting service, or drive another hour because someone told them it might create a better opportunity. They're all good questions. In fact, they're important questions. But underneath every one of them is a quieter question that rarely gets spoken out loud.
"Can someone tell me which choice leads to the good ending?"
The more I thought about those old books, the more I realized I never really outgrew them. I still catch myself wanting to peek ahead. I want to know that the decision I'm about to make is the right one. I want someone to tell me that if I choose this job, this school, this coach, this opportunity, or this direction, everything will work out exactly the way I hope. Certainty is comforting. Unfortunately, life doesn't offer many guarantees.
One of the privileges of my job is that I get to meet athletes whose stories have unfolded in completely different ways. I've worked with athletes who stayed with the same club their entire career and loved every minute of it. I've worked with others who switched clubs and found exactly what they needed. Some reached their goals by specializing early. Others benefited from playing multiple positions for years. There isn't a single roadmap that consistently produces success because success has never belonged to the roadmap.
It belongs to the traveler.
Somewhere along the way, I think we've started believing that our future is determined by one perfect decision. As if there is one page in the book that leads to the life we want, while every other page leads somewhere we should have avoided. But that's rarely how life works. Every path eventually asks the same things of us. It asks us to adapt when our plans change. It asks us to recover when we fail. It asks us to stay curious when things become uncomfortable. Those moments shape us far more than the original decision ever could.
When I think back to those books now, I don't remember whether I chose the cave or the forest. I don't remember whether I escaped the pirates or found the treasure. What I remember is sitting on my bedroom floor completely lost in the story, convinced that anything could happen with the turn of the next page.
Maybe that's the point I missed as a kid.
The adventure was never about making the perfect choice.
It was about becoming the kind of person who could handle whatever happened after making it.
Need help navigating your next chapter?
Whether you're an athlete trying to decide what's next, a parent helping your child through an important decision, or a coach working to create the right environment for your team, sometimes a conversation can bring clarity.
I offer free consultation calls where we can simply talk through your situation, explore your options, and see if I can help. There's no pressure and no obligation, just a conversation.
I'd love to hear your story.
