Writing insights on all things business, life, philosophy, and entrepreneurship.
This image of Kobe, alone in an empty arena, one arm raised in his follow-through, practicing free throws in perfect solitude. That's where greatness lives. There's something sacred about an empty stadium at 6am. I spent years as a pitcher, traveling the country, feeling the stillness of empty ballparks in those early morning hours. The sound of cleats on the bullpen rubber. The pure, empty-stadium echo of a baseball hitting leather. Just me and my catcher, working through mechanical adjustments in perfect solitude. While everyone remembers the big games, the strikeouts, the moments of triumph - everything meaningful was built in those quiet hours before the sun came up. Each morning was a meditation in mastery, repeating the same motion thousands of times until it became nature itself. This truth extends far beyond baseball. It's a fundamental pattern of how excellence is built. I see this dynamic playing out everywhere now. Founders obsessing over their pitch decks while their product sits untouched. Creators spending more time on Twitter than on their craft. People optimizing for the appearance of work rather than the depth of it. They're trying to win the game without putting in time in an empty stadium. The really fascinating part is how this shows up across different domains. Take software engineers - the best ones I know aren't the ones posting about coding on LinkedIn. They're like pitchers working on mechanics at dawn, buried in documentation at 2am, mastering their craft in complete silence. The top traders aren't talking about their strategies at conferences. They're quietly building systems, testing patterns, refining their edge when no one's paying attention. Just like those mornings in the bullpen, the separation between good and great happens in invisible hours. While everyone focuses on the spotlight moments, the real edge is built in silence, through countless repetitions of unglamorous work. I watch people consistently miss this truth. They want the outcomes without understanding the process. They see success as a performance rather than a revelation of work already done. Like a pitcher who only wants to throw in games, never in practice, they focus on the show without respecting what makes it possible. The pattern is everywhere: Writers trying to go viral without developing their voice Entrepreneurs chasing funding without building value Creators seeking attention without mastering their craft My time on the mound taught me there's an amazing contrast between how success looks and how it's actually built. Every overnight success I've studied has years of invisible work behind it. Every "sudden" breakthrough has countless quiet hours laying the foundation. Social media has made this even more pronounced. We're surrounded by highlight reels of success without seeing the empty stadium hours that made them possible. It's like only watching the ninth inning of a perfect game, missing all the years of preparation that made it possible. But real value isn't built under spotlights. It's built in quiet spaces where the only feedback is your own understanding of the work. It's built through repetition, refinement, and the willingness to do important things that look like nothing to everyone else. The truly successful people I know share this trait: they're in love with the empty stadium hours. Like pitchers who find joy in the pure mechanics of their craft, they understand that public excellence is just a byproduct of private obsession. Moving from baseball into business made this even clearer. The same principle that governed success on the mound governs success everywhere: your relationship with invisible work determines your visible outcomes. Most people never grasp this. They're too busy trying to perform to put in the preparation. Too focused on being seen to do the work worth seeing. Like a pitcher who only wants to throw in games, they miss the fundamental truth that excellence isn't built in the spotlight. Excellence isn't a performance. It's just proof of what you've already built. In empty stadiums. When no one was watching. |
Writing insights on all things business, life, philosophy, and entrepreneurship.