INTRODUCTION

Action. A relatively small word that demands effort and breeds better. Yet, nothing about it feels small. Nor should it. When it comes to dreams and goals, action is the biggest word of them all. And let's face it, big can be complicated, intimidating, and scary. Trust me, if anyone gets it, it's me. I've been there before. In that same boat you are in as you read this book. Afraid of action. Afraid of failure. Afraid of a lot of things.

"David, see me outside when you're done in the locker room," my coach hollered before returning on court to answer questions from the media.

I just finished playing in my first real game of professional basketball in Spain. I'd always dreamt of playing in the NBA, and I'd be lying if I didn't tell you that I'd also always dreamt of playing basketball professionally in Spain. My older sister studied in Spain for two years during which I vicariously lived through her stories and photos. I wrote about Spanish life and business for my 50-page capstone project in college. Even as a child, I made my family stop to eat tapas at the Spain booth in Disney's Epcot International Food and Wine Festival every time we vacationed there. (My dad is a Disney fanatic, so much so that my parents even honeymooned there. So, naturally 99% of my childhood vacations consisted of Disney.) All this to say, I knew I was meant to be in Spain. And I especially knew that I was meant to be playing basketball. This was the closest steppingstone I had to the NBA.

As I waited outside the locker room, I took in the brisk early fall evening. The backdrop of the Basque Mountains lining the Northern Iberian Peninsula was like a picturesque painting. The breeze coming off the Cantabrian Sea blew in my hair, adding the refreshing touch I needed after a hard-fought game.

I felt good, really good. I was meant to be here; I just knew it in my bones.

"David," coach called out as he motioned for me to join him on the opposite side of the street.

"Walk with me."

I figured he would tell me he had selected me to be the captain of the team, to be the on-court extension of himself: the player-coach essentially.

But when his next words hit my ears, I suddenly wished that I could "no comprendo." But I understood; I understood far too well.

"We're going to have to send you home," he said with a look that melded stern and disdain together. "I don't think you are going to be able to cut it."

My heart sank.

My body sank.

I tried to hold it together, but inside I was crumbling.

Without any more explanation, the head coach disclosed they would have a car waiting out front in the morning to take me to the airport with a one-way ticket home to Kansas City.

And just like that, it was over.

Gone.

All my hopes, goals, and dreams washed away in a single breath from a coach I thought was my friend.

Oh, how quickly the tides can turn.

I don't remember much of the 14+ hour flight home. I must have sat there staring out the window the entire time in total shock. But, as I wandered off the plane in Kansas City, I felt as if I was in a scene from a movie. You know, the one where everything is happening around the main character in real time while they're in zombie land unable to hear anything but the thoughts screaming in their head.

That was me. And not just as I slugged off the plane, but for the next six months.

My body physically went through the motions of life, but my mind, my heart, and my soul were almost completely absent. I was one-tenth present, nine-tenths broken.

And I had no idea how to move on.

I waited for the phone to ring. Surely my agent would secure another job for me to play professionally overseas.

But the phone never rang.

I waited for my parents to make everything okay and have a job lined up for me so I could earn some money and get a place of my own.

But that conversation never happened.

I waited for an email to come in from my college, Western Illinois University, where I had received my MBA just a few years prior. After all, the dean had said they would always take care of alumni. But an email like that never entered by inbox. And trust me, I checked the spam. Daily.

I was alone, on my own. No one teaches you what to do when all of your goals in life, everything you've prepared for, the thing you've poured every waking hour into is taken away in the blink of an eye without a lifeline in sight. No one teaches you how to make things happen. I was taught to wait until I was offered something: until the phone rang with an opportunity, until an email came in with a job offer. No one ever taught me how to take the reins of life into my own hands, let alone told me I'd need to.

I spent months living as if I were in a dark room with no light switch, moping around my parent's living room and laying back in their recliner chair (which became my room and my bed all in one). I listened to the early morning cacophony of my mom clunking and clanking dishes in the kitchen ten feet from my place of slumber on repeat.

At first, it was annoying but soon enough I learned to tune it out. I learned to tune out a lot.

"David . David . DAVID!" the voice increased from the kitchen until it bordered a yell loud enough to be heard throughout the neighborhood.

My mom had my attention.

I let my head plop toward her direction to acknowledge her but, more importantly, to signal that I had zero plans to decolonize from my recliner.

"You know what, David, life is funny. Just when you think you have it all, life hits you like an avalanche and takes it all away," my mom said without breaking stride as she placed dishes in the cupboard.

What the hell is she talking about, I thought.

My mom continued, "It's funny because just when you think a door is closed on life, it's actually not. The closed door allows other ones to open up so better opportunities can emerge. David, when one door closes, four open, and an entire beachfront patio overlooking the ocean."

What? I played it back in my mind as my mom exited the kitchen.

One door closes, and four open? That couldn't be right. I always thought it was one door closes, one more opens. And what's with the beachfront patio overlooking the ocean? Where was that coming from?

Something struck a chord. I was interested. More than interested, I was deeply intrigued.

So, if one door closes, my life isn't over?

If my goals of playing professional basketball are taken away from me, and another door in that same pursuit doesn't open, my life doesn't end?

Aren't I supposed to wait until the next door opens?

After settling in for bed that night (on the recliner, obviously), my mind couldn't stop racing. I was unable to shake the feeling that maybe there was actually something to what my mom said.

Maybe, just maybe, this mom-ism held valuable weight.

Since the door closed on basketball in Spain, maybe I don't have to wait around until another door opens. Maybe I don't have to let life just "happen to me." What if I can take the reins? What if my future is waiting for me to take action?

Was I sleep-deprived?

Was I dreaming?

When I woke up the next morning, the same thought sprung around my mind, pounding on each side of my brain begging to escape. I knew this moment was different. I knew that my mom's words, the ones I typically would have let go in one ear and out the other, had changed the trajectory of my life.

For the first time, I decided to give myself permission to allow the past to be what it was, the past.

I gave myself permission to expand my identity. No longer did I have to identify as strictly a "basketball player." I could funnel the shooting skills I had mastered as a player and my desire to make an impact in the basketball world through an entirely different door: adding the new identity of "basketball coach" to my repertoire.

I gave myself permission to not wait for life to be handed to me on a silver platter and instead decided from that point on to go get what I want.

I gave myself permission to take action.

I jumped out of the recliner, marched over to the printer, and grabbed every sheet of paper out of the tray. I began to write. And write. And write.

I composed a handwritten letter addressed to every NBA general manager in the league that introduced myself, expressed how much I respected their organization, and stated that if there was anything I could do to serve them, I was all in.

What had gotten into me?

I went from a victim of life to the captain's seat.

Now, I could take you step-by-step through everything I did from that day on that led me to becoming an NBA coach. (Yes, I did accomplish it. Special shoutout to the one general manager who responded to my letter: the GM of the Los Angeles Clippers at the time, Gary Sacks. Every NBA connection and relationship I have to this day stems from Gary.)

But that's not the point.

The point is I began taking action in my life. That is the most important step.

I made the shift from allowing life to happen to me, to making life happen for me.

This book will introduce you to the different...