The morning air was just warm enough, though still cool in the light breeze. Slow moving clouds, hovered just above me, sprinkling light drops of rain as the moisture and mist conspired in shifting eddy’s, revealing glimpses of the sunrise in gaps and thin, translucent portions of the floating bank. The light and colors were surreal and my mind was drawn to Scripture, first to Matthew 5:45: “for he makes his sun rise on the bad and the good, and causes rain to fall on the just and the unjust” and then Genesis 1:2: “”The earth was formless and void, and darkness was over the surface of the deep, and the Spirit of God was moving over the surface of the waters.”

The moment marked a deep breath in a week…weeks…of movement on all fronts, in a year that has embraced a chaotic rhythm which is not so much frightening as it is unsettling in pace and expectation. The wild movements on global and national stages seem mirrored in local flavors, and yesterday’s moments were full of a sense of good and bad, just and unjust, amid the formless void of chaos, calling for order and a pause to catch one’s breath. The movement into the lovely pause brought a sense of peace and hope.

Chaos of another form found us shortly after, as six of our grandchildren descended upon our morning. Amid donuts and kolaches, I found myself in a conversation with Cooper, now nearly 9 years old and into his basketball season. “Are you ready for your game today?” Looking at me a bit sheepishly, he replied, “Yes, but we’re probably going to get beat.” Surprised, I asked him why he thought that.

There is an interesting self-narrative that emerges with all of us as we approach moments of test or conflict. Are we prepared? Do we know what to expect? The fears and uncertainties can claim our headspace and we find ourselves telling a story that has not yet been written. In Cooper’s case, this particular school had produced some very good teams, past and present, and though they had not yet played this team, part of the story had already been written.

We often start there because it fosters a sense of safety. Maybe if we lower our expectations, we won’t be disappointed. Certainly having realistic expectations is helpful when we approach any contest but there is something insidious in the inner voice that sounds the defeatist alarm before we’ve shown up on the battlefield. “Have you played this team?” I asked. “No, but their teams are always really good. They have athletes.”

Ahh, yes, athletes. For those of us who spend time around kids, the words they use are sure signs of their sponging little voice recorders. They hear everything and put it in their rapidly growing library of words, stories, hopes, and dreams. In this case, “athlete” suggested a young person who had greater than average skills on the basketball court. Perhaps even an unfair advantage, like they had played in other leagues or practiced more than the average player. Often the narratives we pick up are things shared by others: peers, opponents, leaders, parents, friend’s parents, etc. Ideas are like seeds, once planted…

Moving close to Cooper, I cupped his face in my hands and said, “Coop, I want you to listen closely. What we tell ourselves has great power – whether its on the basketball court, on a test, or in pretty much anything we undertake. What we feed into our mind often becomes reality. I want to share something with you.” Grabbing my phone, I did a quick search for an old poem. Strangely, I keep a printed version of it on my desk and had been reflecting on it earlier this week.

The Man Who Thinks He Can, by Walter D. Wintle

If you think you are beaten, you are
If you think you dare not, you don’t,
If you like to win, but you think you can’t
It is almost certain you won’t.
If you think you’ll lose, you’re lost
For out of the world we find,
Success begins with a fellow’s will
It’s all in the state of mind.

If you think you are outclassed, you are
You’ve got to think high to rise,
You’ve got to be sure of yourself before
You can ever win a prize.
Life’s battles don’t always go
To the stronger or faster man,
But soon or late the man who wins
Is the man who thinks he can.

Earlier in the week, I was catching up with a friend. “Three years ago when you told me you were launching a TPA, I thought you were crazy,” he said. “Yes,” I smiled back, “You pretty much said that.” There are narratives we write and there are the ones others give to us. My friends hesitation at our plans was formed in his understanding of the difficulties and the nagging question, why? Why take the risk? Why take on the headaches? Why? Of course, one’s “why” makes all the difference in the world.

Finishing the poem, I looked into Cooper’s eyes and said, “Coop, you may lose the game. They may have more skills or simply play better today. But the only thing that matters is that you go into the game and do your best. You can’t control what your opponent does, but you can look forward to the challenge of the game and the chance to play. And, if you get in there and do your best, you might win simply by the fact that you believed you could.”

There is great chaos in the world around us and it is easy to feel tossed about in the massive ocean of all the things beyond our control. Now nearly 18 years into my journey as an entrepreneur, I’ve won and lost enough times to know I don’t have it all figured out, not all of my ideas are good ones, and there are no guarantees as to what lies ahead. However, I’ve also learned that some of the greatest destinations we’ve come to were once the little seed of an idea and that many of the most exciting adventures came from simply moving in a particular direction because we thought we could. Control has never been the point but there are always opportunities to bring order and hope.

Watching Cooper’s team yesterday, I thought about our conversation earlier in the morning and wondered what was going through his mind. From the beginning, his team looked outgunned, trailing by as many 10 points…which is a lot in a game where they only score 20 points or so. However, they hung in there and ended up winning by two points. After the game, he didn’t say anything about winning, scoring points, or any bad calls by the refs. Looking at me, he smiled because he knew. There was pure joy in showing up and just playing the game.

And I am proud to see him becoming a man who thinks he can.