Coaches Don't Play

We all have those moments when we give our friends great advice but fail to take our own. That exact thing has been weighing on me a lot lately.

I’ve been battling my own stubbornness, realizing that I often only take in opinions I like. A shitty quality, of course. But learning to consider perspectives I don't naturally agree with is a crucial part of self-reflection. I started picking at that bone after a long-overdue conversation with my aunt.

She’s the consigliere of my life. She gives me amazing game, but she buries the lessons in it. I unpack it over time—usually when I come back from vacation. I tend to call her when my head’s too big to fit through the door.

This stubbornness seems to be a major theme in my life—a pillar of contention. I always think I know better, and more often than not, I fall short. Sure, there are moments where I shine through, coming out of the turf war a winner. I even get a sense of joy in proving someone wrong. Sometimes I see a different angle—one only viewable through my position.

But I need to step back and accept other people’s views as well. Just like my simplicity reveals things others might not see, their perspectives might do the same for me. Coaches have played—maybe just in a different sport. A lot of my stubbornness comes from people telling me what to do. At its core, stubbornness is the inability to change your mind—often fueled by spite. I know I have this. I make choices out of spite, and it always bites me in the ass. It turns out to be a weak position.

One of my best qualities, though, is the ability to admit when I’m wrong. That helps me rectify the bad decisions made out of pride or spite. I’ve even been complimented on it—people say it’s my strongest trait. But here’s the deeper part: when people give advice wrapped in their own opinions, and then get mad when I don’t take it, I get it. I’ve done the same thing—gotten angry when someone asked for my opinion but didn’t like it.

The thing is, when people give you advice, they never have the full story. All they have is their perspective. And when you’re viewing something up close, it always looks different than it does from a distance. You have to take that advice in, analyze it, and figure out what’s actually applicable to your situation.

That’s what this piece is about. Coaches, legitimately, do not play. They may have played in the past and have valuable information. But you still have to discern what’s actionable and what’s just noise. Everyone has an opinion—but not all of them have the right data.

I’ve seen this play out in my own life. I’ve found that the best outcomes happen when I remove myself from the outcome. I’m actually dealing with the fallout of not doing that recently—of not applying what I already knew to a situation.

What I’ve learned is that when you take your emotion out of a decision, it hurts less—and it usually works out better. Just knowing you did everything you could to produce a result gives peace. Sometimes, people just hit a miraculous buzzer-beater.

When you give game that actually makes sense, people do listen. It’s never in the moment—it’s in the quiet of their own living room. They ruminate on it and realize you were just trying to better their life. You can’t force it. That’s when it never lands. Just showing people the ride is proof enough that what you say is Fortune 500 advice.

The coaching we receive that hits us emotionally is often the exact advice we need to take. Coaches see through us—they witness our development in real time. That’s why their advice tends to be right. Their egos aren’t tied up in it. I’m still learning that lesson. It plagues me.