REFLECTION
One year on the Patriots, they brought in a Navy SEAL to talk to us about how they prepped for missions. He said that before going on any big mission, they practiced it so many times that by the time they actually went out on the mission, 90% of the variables were already accounted for in their thinking and all of the specific tactics were carved into their muscle memory. That left them with 100% of their conscious brainpower to focus on solving the 10% of unknown variables that crop up in any mission.
That’s the purpose of training and practice, he said. It’s not to get a little bit better each time on some specific skill, although that does happen. It’s to help you focus your energy completely on the things you don’t control or couldn’t foresee in the biggest moments you’ll face.
For a football player, the Super Bowl is the ultimate mission. It’s also an absolute circus. Two weeks of travel, NFL and team obligations, insane security protocols, Media Day, parties, corporate sponsor events. And that’s before we even get to typical game prep, practice, team meetings, walk through, and then the game itself. Plus, every player is at the center of their own mini-circus, with ticket requests from friends, finding time to be with family and, these days, creating content for their own social media feeds.
The key to surviving this circus in the lead up to the big game is to be the ringmaster, not the dancing elephant. You want to run the show, not be the show. During my Super Bowl appearances, the way I did that was by doubling down on my habits and routines. I stayed longer at the facility. I really focused on my film study. I became like a zealot with my note taking and I lived inside my playbook. While others were getting distracted by the sideshow, I was getting ultra-focused for the main event.
My specific habits aren’t important, because every person is different. You’ll each find the things that work best for you. What’s important is that the routines I built out of my habits functioned like a boundary between personal and professional time. They helped me transition focus to the thing we were all there for while shutting out the outside noise and eliminating every possible variable I could think of. As a result, I was able to roll with any punch, exist completely in the moment, and not just perform at my best but also take it all in. My memories from all ten of my Super Bowls are sharp because I was truly present for all of them.
LESSON
That’s not to say developing a set of good habits is easy. Professional athletes are just better at it than most, because raw talent is never enough to play a sport at its highest level. You need to be good at everything around your sport as well, and that takes discipline.
Discipline (or lack thereof) is how we tend to think habits are created, and that’s true to an extent. A habit is a behavior you do consistently, usually the same way and often at the same time every day, regardless of the allure of other things you might want to do or the urgency of things that might need your attention.
But discipline really only explains how a behavior becomes a habit. It doesn’t explain why you’ve developed it or what keeps it going. That’s where obsession and motivation come in.
A couple weeks ago, the great podcaster Chris Williamson wrote brilliantly about how these three concepts relate to each other when it comes to getting things done. What distinguishes them, he said, is the amount of mental effort required. What he calls, “friction.” Using discipline to get something done takes the most effort. Motivation, a little less. And obsession, practically none, because you’re so consumed by whatever you’re doing, that doing it doesn’t feel like effort at all.
His point was that if you find yourself obsessed with something positive, embrace it and ride the tidal wave of effort it creates all the way into shore, because along the way you will have created the systems, rituals, habits and routines necessary to continue doing great work long after the obsession has worn off, and motivation and discipline are harder to find.
There’s a lot of truth to that. But I’ve also found, in my experience, that obsession, motivation and discipline are linked. They are part of a single cascade that flows from obsession.
In my case, as I explained to the Spittin’ Chiclets guys on their podcast, my obsession was throwing the football. Specifically, throwing a perfect spiral. That, in part, motivated me to be great at football, because what better way to indulge this obsession than to do it at the highest level, and make a life and career out of it? But greatness meant winning, and I knew that the razor thin margin between victory and defeat in professional sports is defined by the difference in discipline between the winner and the loser. The more disciplined I was, the more likely we were to win, and the longer they would let me do this thing I loved for a living.
My habits and routines formed at the bottom of this cascade from obsession. And on top of them, I built a 23-year career that included 7 Super Bowl wins, 5 Super Bowl MVPs, and maybe 500 perfect throws. Just as importantly, I relied on these habits and routines to protect my time, focus and energy, so that when I played I could handle anything while also creating countless vivid memories with teammates that I will never forget.
APPLICATION
This is the thing about good habits when they are a byproduct of something you really care about. They function as both the building blocks of excellence and as a protective, insulating barrier between doing the thing you’re obsessed with and everything else that’s just noise—as, hopefully, the guys on the Seahawks and the Patriots are about to find out for themselves.
Good habits help produce great outcomes and great memories.
But there’s something else about these habits that’s worth remembering, as well. They don’t ever just go away when your playing days are done, or when it stops “mattering,” and neither do the benefits that accrue from them. When you’ve built good habits around something you love, they serve you forever. They help you get the most out of every experience, however big or small.
A great musician will always be a great listener and a generous collaborator. A doctor will always know how to heal and to soothe and stay calm under pressure. A teacher can control a room, synthesize information, and be a mentor to anyone until the day they die. Successful businesspeople become investors, not out of greed, but out of a passion for leadership and a love for a good idea that they can’t not see when it’s put in front of them. And this isn’t something that is strictly professional, it is personal too. My mom and dad are phenomenal grandparents and have a positive impact on everyone they meet because of the habits they developed raising my sisters and me.
The long tail of good habits really came into focus for me a couple weeks ago in Seattle. I was there for the Niners-Seahawks divisional round matchup, and the cameras caught me throwing to some kids on the field before the game. Social media seemed to get a kick out of the fact that, between each throw, I unconsciously moved my hands to where my handwarmer would have been around my waist during my playing days. It’s true. I wasn’t thinking about where my hands were going at all when I was out there. What you were seeing was muscle memory. A habit I developed as a player to keep my hands warm during all those late season games at Foxboro.
What you didn’t see, or at least what the social media feeds didn’t pick up on, were all the micro movements in my throwing mechanics that I also wasn’t thinking about, but were absolutely identical during every pass I ever threw to Julian, or Gronk, or Randy Moss, or Wes Welker. My left shoulder was pointed at the target, I took a short stride, I had that perfect reverse “C”, and the ball was on plane.
Down on that field, in January, with temps in the high 30s, habit and muscle memory brought me right back to my throwing mechanics and that physiological place where my mind could be focused on what mattered most: being present in the moment with that young aspiring athlete, making a memory for both of us, as I did the thing I’m most obsessed with in this world because it brings out so much joy for me—throwing the football in a packed stadium.
As people wandered in every direction around us on the field, as Niners and Seahawks players went about their own pregame routines, as music blared from the public address system, all the throwing habits I developed over the last thirty years had those variables accounted for and then naturally coalesced around us like a soundproof cocoon. The only thing I couldn’t predict was who might not be paying attention, but once I had a clear line of sight, you better believe that ball came out on time, with a tight spiral, right on target. Just like I’ve done hundreds of thousands of times before.
Did it have to be that way? Probably not. But there was no chance it was gonna go any other way. That’s the force of habit. A good habit. And I loved every moment of it.
