Inspiration isn’t passive. You have to put yourself in the places where it lives—whether that’s a gym, a baseball field, the woods, or a gallery. And when you do, it changes you.
I was walking laps around the gym the other morning, waiting for a machine to open up. Music in my headphones, water bottle in hand. Nothing heroic about it. Just another workout.
But then I started looking around. Over by the squat rack, a guy was grinding through his last rep, face red with effort. On the treadmills, a woman kept running steady and strong. A couple of college kids were lifting and laughing, but still putting in the work.
And it hit me: every single person in that room had chosen to be there. Chosen to push themselves. Chosen to get a little stronger, a little healthier. Just being in that space made me want to give more effort. Their energy rubbed off on me.
I felt it again last night at baseball practice. One of my catchers admitted his biggest weakness—his throws to second base. He was honest, self-aware, and ready to improve. We worked on weighted ball drills, then focused on line-drive throws with speed. In thirty minutes, he made huge progress. After practice he asked, “Coach, can we work on that more?”
That question lit me up. Seeing a kid inspired to get better made me feel inspired too. There’s nothing better as a coach than working with someone who wants to grow.
The common thread? You see other people—or even other expressions of life—choosing growth. Choosing creativity. Choosing to move forward.
And it changes you.
If you’re feeling stuck, maybe the real question is: are you putting yourself in places where inspiration can actually find you? Or are you waiting for it to come knocking at your door?
Because inspiration isn’t passive. You’ve got to go seek it. Sometimes it’s a room full of barbells and treadmills. Sometimes it’s an oak tree or a Picasso.
But when you find it, it’s like oxygen. It reminds you of who you want to be, and gives you a little push to keep becoming that person.
While listening to music and thinking through a problem, a quiet phrase came to me: “It’ll be all right. You’re gonna be all right.” A new mantra, born from stillness.
There’s a quiet pull in life that draws us inward—a kind of darkness that waits for everyone. This is about learning to tend your own fire, to keep showing up, and to find warmth even in the coldest places.
Some nights, even with all the right sleep rituals, I still find myself staring at the ceiling until 3 a.m. The next day feels foggy, heavy, and frustrating. But I’ve discovered one small practice that helps me reset: a short midday meditation. It won’t cure insomnia, but it can save the day.