Some Things Can’t Be Forced
What baseball, golf, real estate, and my own wiring keep trying to teach me
I gripped the bat so hard in college, I’m surprised it didn’t splinter.
One error in the field, and I’d carry it straight to the plate. My mechanics would collapse. My swing would tighten. The harder I tried to fix it, the worse it got.
I was hitting nearly .500 halfway through my sophomore year. Then, one bad game could erase it all.
That pattern never left. It just found new places to show up.
The Wiring I Can’t Outrun
I’ve been trying to force things my entire life.
Push harder. Go faster. Get more intense. Outcomes will bend to my will.
A boss once told me our job was “not something you can beat into submission.” I didn’t believe him. I assumed everything could be solved with more effort. If a door didn’t open, I leaned on it harder. If the result didn’t come, I doubled down.
Looking back, most of the time I wasn’t getting closer to the outcome. I was pushing it further away.
Golf shows me this pattern every single round. I’ll miss a putt or snap-hook one into the clubhouse, then I try to make up for it by crushing the next tee shot, and suddenly we’re in someone’s backyard.
I love watching pros block one out of bounds, ride the cart path, and end up in the trees. I’ll comment, “they play just like us.” Then they’ll drop, fire a laser for their third shot to seven feet, sink the lag putt for par, and move on.
Never mind. They don’t play just like us.
My engine idles high. When I get fired up, I can feel it in my chest and in my head. The symptoms are physical. The difference now is that I notice it. And sometimes I can catch it early enough to ride the dragon instead of letting it run me.
But catching it early isn’t the same as solving it.
The Real Estate Search That Exposed Everything
The same wiring showed up in my search for a long-term rental property.
For context: I’ve been building a strategy to acquire single-family homes as long-term rentals. The plan is sound. The discipline is there. The only missing piece is the right property at the right numbers in the right market.
And that’s the part I can’t accelerate.
The more I looked and the harder I pushed, the less sense anything made. I started bending my criteria to fit potential deals rather than sticking to the strategy. The numbers didn’t improve. My effort didn’t change anything.
The emotional toll of wanting to get in the game was real. I could see the entire plan for long-term wealth in front of me, and yet the only missing piece was the part I couldn’t force.
There was one night where I had Zillow open on my phone, then on my laptop, then back on my phone, refreshing the same listings as if something new was going to magically appear.
I wasn’t evaluating anything. I wasn’t thinking clearly.
I was searching harder because I felt out of control.
My chest was tight, my thoughts were scattered, and I was convincing myself I was missing something that wasn’t there. It was a moment where I could feel myself gripping too hard.
It was an uncomfortable realization.
This is not something I can beat into submission.
What Forcing Actually Does to Me
When I’m in forcing mode, worry floods in fast.
I start creating bad data points that don’t exist.
What if I’m not actually doing well?
What if I’m naïve?
What if I’m a fraud?
I lose sight of the evidence in front of me. I start spinning stories about what already happened and what might happen next. One bad golf shot, one rough presentation, one awkward conversation, and the whole identity feels at risk.
And it isn’t just emotional. It’s physical.
When I’m idling high and worried about things I can’t control, the game moves very quickly. Things happen in a flash, and I don’t even realize what just happened. I’m in total reactive mode.
This used to happen in baseball, but it shows up everywhere now. Parenting. Work. Even in conversations.
I’m not processing fully or keeping pace. I’m chasing the moment instead of letting it come to me, and I get caught off guard when called upon.
When I force, I can feel a buzzing in my head. A kind of tingling that feels like a bad drunk. My breathing speeds up. My heart rate climbs. My vision narrows. My decision-making erodes.
Forcing doesn’t just lead to bad decisions. It removes presence. It steals the moment. It creates a version of me who isn’t grounded in truth but reacting to fear.
The Movie Metaphor That Keeps Me Grounded
I think about movies often when I’m stuck in this mode.
If you skip to the last ten minutes, you see that things work out. The protagonist gets through it. The tension resolves.
But if you’re living in the middle, it feels chaotic. Uncertain. Like everything could fall apart at any moment.
Life feels like that. When I remember this, I feel lighter. My head clears. Things get brighter. It’s presence taking over, not pressure.
The real fear underneath it all isn’t about a house.
It’s about falling behind.
It’s about wanting the compounding to start now.
It’s about the feeling of becoming who I believe I’m meant to be.
Maybe the Timing Is the Teacher
What feels true is that maybe the investment property isn’t here yet because I’m not ready for it yet.
I’ve had this same realization with work. There were seasons where certain deals didn’t come through, not because I did anything wrong, but because something in me needed to develop first.
There have been times in my life where I was furious about timing, only to realize later that it saved me.
Deals I thought I needed that would have pulled me off course. Opportunities I chased that didn’t materialize until I had the skillset to handle them. Even relationships or friendships where I simply wasn’t ready to show up well yet.
Over and over, timing has proven itself a better architect than my urgency.
When things came too early, I wasn’t equipped to handle them. When they came later, I could actually take advantage of them.
I don’t love that pattern in the moment, but looking back, it’s one of the only patterns that consistently holds up.
Sometimes we don’t get what we want because we’re not yet in a position to appreciate it or take full advantage of it.
Sometimes the waiting is shaping us.
Sometimes the waiting is protection, not punishment.
Who I Become When I Stop Forcing
The non-forcing version of me is clear.
He’s the hockey player scanning the ice with his head up, waiting for the play to reveal itself.
Calm. Strategic. Present.
Collecting information before acting. Judging situations on their merit instead of emotion. Confident in the base he’s built financially, athletically, personally.
A quiet, unflappable presence who lifts the room without effort.
This version of me acts from a plan instead of panic.
No spiraling.
No forecasting.
No rewriting the past.
Just awareness and execution.
When I trust the real evidence instead of the imagined worst-case scenarios, I feel grounded immediately. It isn’t loud confidence. It isn’t boastful.
It’s the subtle kind that people notice when I walk into a room.
It’s the version of me I’m trying to step into more often.
The version that knows some things can’t be forced.
And doesn’t need them to be.
The Long Game Is the Real Luxury
This is what intentional luxury actually looks like in practice.
Not the watch. Not the house. Not the investment that finally closes.
It’s the discipline to wait for the right one.
It’s the awareness to notice when I’m forcing and the humility to step back.
It’s the long-term thinking that says: the timing will reveal itself when I’m ready.
Every time I’ve tried to force something material or meaningful before its time, I’ve either failed or succeeded in a way that didn’t serve me. The best outcomes in my life have come when I stayed disciplined, stayed present, and trusted the process.
That’s the real wealth I’m building.
Not just the assets. The temperament to steward them well.
The version of me who can hold the tension without gripping too hard.
What’s Next
I don’t know when the right property will show up. I don’t know when the next opportunity will materialize or when the next lesson will land.
But I know this: every time I’ve trusted the wait, I’ve been better for it.
I’m learning to stop refreshing Zillow at midnight. I’m learning to feel the buzz in my head and breathe through it. I’m learning that presence is more valuable than urgency.
Some things can’t be forced.
And maybe that’s the whole point.
What’s something you’ve been trying to force that might be teaching you to wait instead?
I’d love to hear what this brings up for you. Hit reply and let me know.
— Stephen