This is Becoming Undone. In a town that still doesn't quite feel like home, we walked through the door expecting to be greeted by a bright, young, courteous worker in one of those paper hats that I knew that we wouldn't know. In a restaurant full of strangers. My wife and I, we'd made this quick walk to In-N-Out Burger just off I-35. We were going to grab a Friday night burger. We've only been there twice since we moved to town. So in a way, it was kind of a bit of a treat. And when we finally got there, I reached for the door. And as I did, I saw it. Blue and gold. Familiar logos. Familiar faces. It was a total surprise. We've lived in Waco for almost two years now. But I'll be honest, it's still not home. At least it doesn't feel like home. But Lubbock? We lived in Lubbock, Texas for 15 years. We raised our family there. Both of our kids still live there. We go back at least every few weeks. Lubbock still feels like home. So when we saw members of the Lubbock Christian Boys basketball team and my friend, Coach Chez Tucker, all sat down having a meal together, I was shocked, at least for a moment. While Arsante hadn't played basketball at Lubbock Christian, he was a two-sport athlete, and Coach Tucker had been his position coach in football. So seeing that group from his old school having dinner together some five or six hours southeast of Lubbock was a welcome surprise. The Eagles boys and girls team were both in town for the TAPS State Basketball Championship, the Texas area private and parochial schools, kind of like the UIL for private schools. And Lubbock Christian is a bit of an athletic powerhouse in tap circles. They've claimed what's called the Henderson Cup, back-to-back years, 22-23 and 23-24, and finished third in 24-25. And it's kind of like the Learfield Cup. It's the award for the most decorated athletics and fine arts school in the state. In Lubbock Christian fashion, both teams had made it to the state basketball quarterfinals in Waco. But in un-Lubbock Christian fashion, both teams lost their first game. meaning they missed the chance to play for the 2026 state championships. Despite the loss, the guys seemed to be in pretty good spirits. And I couldn't help but compare the way that they were together. They were eating, they were laughing, genuinely enjoying one another's company. And I was comparing that to the end of my basketball journey. And we've all got moments that shatter us, at least most of us do. Moments from that life that we've so carefully constructed, the plans, the roles, the expectations, they all come crashing down around us. The specifics of these moments might differ, but after 100 interviews with high achievers and more than two decades working with elite athletes, I can tell you that that experience of hitting rock bottom is almost universal. It's the moment when you're left standing around, looking at the smoking wreckage that was your life, unsure what to do next, with no clear path forward that can shake you to your core. The world calls these failures, but I've come to see them as something else entirely. These are the moments that define us, not by just the collapse, but by what comes next. I remember my first real failure, my last loss. I remember a time in my life when I thought I had it all figured out. I had what I thought was a clear path, a sense of purpose, a vision for where I wanted to go. But looking back, there was a mountain of evidence at the time that I was in desperate need of a course correction. I was clearly headed for a painful reckoning with reality. But what I was far too young to realize at the time was that that collapse was coming. Now, I don't remember everything about those days, but those moments leading up to it, what I'll never forget was the look in my own eyes as I stared in the mirror, hollow, fiery, tear-streaked, angry, terrified. Now what? That shook me to my core. I remember thinking, what in the hell next? When your identity is tied to something as fragile as being an athlete, it's only a matter of time before you reach the end of the line. And despite my childhood and early adulthood spent building my entire identity around being an athlete, it was basically over for me at the age of 18. Way sooner than I would have chosen, but over regardless. I stared in that mirror above the sink in the visiting team locker room, just boiling with a mix of rage and hatred for the face that looked back at me. I wasn't an athlete. I was a former athlete. And unlike Leva Christian, my team didn't make a deep run in the state tournament. To be honest, nobody expected us to. My team had been eliminated in the second round of the Illinois State High School Association basketball regionals. One of the few things that I hate about the game of basketball is that all but just a select few players have to end their careers with a playoff loss. Even though I had dreams of playing college basketball, exactly zero schools had expressed interest in having me on their team. All the people around me had made it pretty clear. All this silly basketball stuff would soon be over, and it would be time to get on with life. So when it was, I reluctantly faced my new truth. It was over. After that final buzzer sounded, I found myself in somebody else's locker room, leaning against somebody else's locker. I waited for my coach and my teammates to get out of the locker room one by one, but I lingered. I stayed behind. I sure as heck wasn't going to show weakness and break down in front of them. But I wasn't ready to go either. Like, ever. I knew that while I had walked in that door as an athlete, I wouldn't walk out at this one. As soon as I was alone, that rage quickly collapsed into unrestrained grief. I slumped into a pile of worthlessness onto somebody else's cold, polished concrete. And I pulled my knees tightly to my chest like a patient in a psych ward, pressing the back of my head against that locker behind me. That door latch was clinking, but it couldn't cover the sound of my breath. as I wept harder and harder, trying to choke the sound as I bitterly mourned that last loss. Now I get it. In retrospect, that reaction didn't fit the gravity of the situation. It was total overkill. I went into that game pretty much knowing that it would be it, and we got destroyed as expected. An outsider might be left to wonder why I was so upset to lose a game that my team and I were supposed to lose anyway. But I hadn't just lost the game. I'd lost my way. Basketball had become at least to me in that season the most important part of who I was And I honestly couldn tell you how long I sat there before I finally got up silently slipped off my jersey for the last time stuffed my sweaty uniform and my stinky shoes in my team bag for the last time, showered, not for the last time, and I put on my street coast. I tried to pull myself together, and at long last I summoned the strength to leave as the new unwanted me as a former athlete. A few doors of my life had been harder to walk through than that one. I wasn't anxious to go through it because even though I really had no idea what was on the other side, I knew basketball wasn't. So when I saw that team, many of them who had just lost their last game of their basketball careers, laughing it up and having a good time, I felt a tinge of jealousy. But when Coach Tucker came over to chat and he shared their plans, that jealousy turned into deep admiration. I heard the news. Sorry to hear it, but finishing in the final four is nothing to sneeze at, I told him. It was already about 6 p.m. and it's 350 miles to Lubbock, so I was a little surprised they were taking their time. I asked him, y'all heading back tonight? That's when he said something that I haven't been able to shake since. No, he said. They wanted to stay another night, hang out, enjoy each other's company. We'll head back tomorrow, but tonight, for one more night, we're going to stay together as a team. Ever since then, I've been in awe of those high schoolers. They were mature enough to realize that before they know it, life is going to be changing. But those seniors are going somewhere new. Maybe some underclassmen either won't play or transfer schools. That team that they had that has lived would soon be no more. But they had one more night and they were going to enjoy it. It reminds me of this one. A year from now, we'll all be gone While our friends will move away And they're going to better places But our friends will be gone away Or how about this one? I wish somebody would have told me, babe Someday these will be the good old days All the love you forget And all these reckless nights you regret Or the absolutely insane wisdom in this quote by renowned philosopher Andy Bernard. The weird thing is, now I'm exactly where I want to be. I got my dream job at Cornell. And I'm still just thinking about my old pals. only now they're the ones I made here. I wish there was a way to know you're in the good old days before you've actually left them. We'll be back after a quick break. Hi, I'm Sarah Beth Herman, a five-time CEO and host of the podcast, No Silver Spoons. This show is for leaders, entrepreneurs, and people building something meaningful without shortcuts. We talk about leadership, mindset, business growth, and the real lessons that come from doing hard things really well. And if you're in the dental industry, you'll hear a few episodes that speak directly to that world too. Because no matter your field, leadership is leadership. Listen to No Silver Spoons wherever you get your podcast. For 18-year-old me in that locker room, I was too broken in that moment to have a have the proper perspective. But to me since then, it's kind of been the opposite problem. Destination addiction. Thinking that happiness is just one degree or one promotion or one new job or one new city or one new relationship away. It can be tempting to want to climb that ladder and constantly get ahead. But that chase can make us miss out on all the best things those good old days we're in right now have to offer. And that's what we're going to talk about today in episode 151 of becoming undone. I guess now's as good a time as any to say that I'm Dr. Toby Brooks, a professor, author, speaker, and performance scientist. I've spent much of the past 20 years working with high achievers, learning about what makes and different and seeing firsthand how failures and setbacks that would destroy most actually set them up for the biggest successes. Each week on Becoming Undone, I bring you a new guest where we talk about how that unraveling can be a prereq to the best buildups and the most massive successes. But so often on Word to the Third, I bring you a solo episode where I reflect, reprocess, and recommit to taking what we've learned from them and getting better ourselves. And today, we're talking about destination addiction. Now, if you've never heard of destination addiction, don't worry. It's not in the DSM. You won't find it on any prescription bottle, but you'll find it in boardrooms, and you'll find it in locker rooms, and you'll find it in high achievers who can't sit still long enough to enjoy the very thing they worked so hard to build. Destination addiction is the belief that happiness lives just ahead. It's that subtle but persistent lie that says, I'll be good when dot dot dot. I'll relax after dot dot dot. I'll finally be happy if one more degree, one more promotion, one more contract, one more title, one more win. And listen, ambition isn't the enemy and neither a growth or high performance. But when our peace is always postponed, trust me, that's a problem. Because what destination addiction does, especially high achievers, is that it convinces us that fulfillment lives somewhere on the other side of arrival. But here's what I've both seen and learned the hard way Arrival never arrives We be back after this quick message and I built the science of the comeback for people who refuse to stay broken. Inside the app, you'll find research-backed resilience training, daily prompts and guided reflection tools, performance psychology frameworks, identity rebuilding exercises, and personalized structured pathways to move from burnout and confusion to clarity and momentum. It's not hype. It's neuroscience. It's performance science. And it's hard-won experience. If you're listening to Becoming Undone, I created a special offer just for you. For the next three months, you can get full access for just 49 bucks for an entire year or just five bucks a month with no obligation. You can cancel at any time. That's less than the price of a cup of coffee to start rebuilding your life on purpose. Your comeback isn't accidental. It's intentional. Start yours today at scienceofthecomeback.com. But here's what I've both seen and learned the hard way. A rival never arrives. You hit the goal, you get the job, you finish the season, you walk across the stage, and sometimes before the applause even fades, your brain is already whispering, what's next? And if your first instinct after a win is to immediately chase the next thing instead of honoring the one you just accomplished, you might be addicted to destinations. I know that because I've lived it. That locker room when I was 18, I wasn't grieving the loss of the game. I was grieving the loss of a future that I'd built in my head. I wasn't thinking, man, what a ride. I was thinking, I rushed through that last night. But those Lubbock Christian kids, they didn't. They understood something that 18-year-old me didn't, that sometimes the most mature move isn't to move on. It's to stay one more night. Destination addiction shows up in a few predictable ways. So let me give you some diagnostics in case you're wondering if it's hitting you. First, you constantly delay joy. You tell yourself you're going to celebrate later, after the deadline, or after the season, or after the semester, or after the kids are older, after that bank account's bigger. But that never arrives. And if joy is always scheduled for a future version of our lives, then we miss the one we're living on. When she was little, my daughter Brynn desperately wanted a pair of rollerblades. When she finally got them, she loved them. I remember her holding them, playing with the buckles and spinning the wheels. but she didn't want to actually rollerblade in them because she was afraid she'd scuff them up. And she loved them perfect, just like they were. So sometime later, when she finally decided it was time to give them a go, she discovered that her feet had grown. She couldn't wear them. They wouldn't fit. She'd been so concerned about the damage they might take if she'd worn them that she'd missed out on her opportunity to wear them at all. And so it is with life. We can be so seduced by the need to hustle and grind to get to where we think we deserve to be that we fail to truly enjoy the present. By the time we're ready to slip that roll on that we've been putting off, it might just be too late. Second, you feel strangely empty after big wins. And this one hits me hard. You accomplish that thing, the thing you've been chasing for years. But instead of feeling satisfied, you feel neutral or worse, restless. So you move the goalpost again. For me, I thought that was just how driving ambition worked. But it's more than that. It's like a hamster wheel. We can run as hard as we want to, but we still might not actually be getting anywhere. When I finally got tenure, I was happy for, no lie, about 15 seconds. This accomplishment that I had been chasing for more than a decade had gone from dream to reality. But before I could even allow the smile to form on my face, I remember the first thought that formed in my mind. Now what? it's unsettling to have that massive goal that destination be in our mind forever finally moved to the done list getting tenure was scratched off my to-do list but i actually grew deeply depressed i didn't know what i needed to do or what direction i needed to point my new efforts into after a while i finally figured it out but i felt the shame and loneliness that was unlike anything i'd ever felt before all because my massive goal had actually been successfully completed Third, you struggle to be present in ordinary moments. Dinner, car rides, practices, meetings, random Tuesday nights. Physically, you're there. But mentally, you're already moving to the next milestone. Here's a truth that we hate to admit. Most of the good old days don't feel like the good old days when we're in them. And if you're constantly chasing the next thing, you won't recognize the beauty of the thing you're standing in. a few weeks ago on the show i told you about the artwork my son drew for me when he was just a couple years old i can actually see it on the wall behind the camera it's a stick figure with his hands held out as if to say stop and the letters n-o-w-r-o-g it was my little guy's attempt to tell his dad no working it's framed and it's hanging to remind me to stay centered but you know it's too late now. I don't need to stay centered to forsake my people for my to-do list. But in that moment, it was like an indictment on my soul that told me I'd been so focused on trying to make a living for my family that I wasn't able to do life with them. Destination addiction tells us one more month of this or one more season or just a little longer. Today, my son Tay's in Lubbock and I'm in Waco. He didn't have to tell me no working today because honestly, it doesn't matter. Sadly, he no longer needs me like he used to. I say sadly in a way that's good. That's what we want. But if I could do it over, I'd be more present. So when I ask you to ask yourself, what's happening right now? If we can't be present right now, we might not have a present to return to later. Lastly, one more sign. You're probably dealing with destination addiction is that your identity is tied to motion. When slowing down feels like losing. When resting feels like weakness. When contentment feels like complacency, that's when I know that this thing's got its hooks in me. Because if we only feel valuable when we advancing we never feel valuable when we still And that dangerous Here why destination addiction is so subtle It wears the mask of excellence Nobody criticizes the guy who's always striving. Nobody questions the woman who keeps climbing. But if you can't be at peace in the process, you won't suddenly be at peace when you take the podium. The destination doesn't fix what the wiring created. So what do we do about it? Let me give you a few practical things that you can start this week. First, build what I call arrival rituals. High achievers are phenomenal at setting goals. And I'll include myself in that bunch. We are terrible at closing chapters. So before asking what's next, ask, what did this mean? Celebrate with intentionality. React with deliberation. Honor the effort. Don't sprint past the milestones like they're inconveniences. Plan ahead how you're going to celebrate the arrival and then stick to it. You earned it. Consider celebration part of the process. Put it on your to-do list if you have to, but don't skip it no matter what. Second, practice what I call last night awareness. Those young men chose one more night together. What if you treated one moment this week like it was the last time, the last practice, the last dinner, the last road trip, the last random Tuesday night? Not in a sick and morbid way, but in an aware way. It changes how you show up. To this day, to this day. My kids make fun of me for being overly sentimental and I'll actually give myself some credit for this. I'm always on the lookout for the lasts. I want to savor them and drink them in. You can too. Unlike me, avoid the temptation to be sad that they're ending, but allow yourself to be filled with gratitude as they happen in the first place. Thirdly, in this one, I'm terrible at. So full admission, separate your identity from your outcomes. You're more than just the title or the jersey. You're not just the promotion. When the person who shows up with integrity, effort, and courage, regardless of the outcome, that's what matters. When identity is internal instead of external, then those destinations lose their power. We don't need to be constantly looking for that promotion or that pay raise or that title because we already know who we are, what we're capable of. You just have to remember it. Last but not least, anchor yourself in the process. Control your controllables. Pick one thing that defines you independent of the results. Maybe you're going to prepare better than anybody else. Maybe you're going to show up consistently more than anybody else. Maybe you're going to be kinder or more faithful or more disciplined. Something that is uniquely yours, whether you win or lose, that can steady that emotional roller coaster. Because here's what I've learned, even decades removed from that cold locker room floor, life is full of doors. Some of them we sprint through and we're pulled. Some of them we trudge through and we're pushing. But every now and then, you get the chance to stand in the doorway and decide how you're going to walk through it. Those boys at the In-N-Out, they chose to stay in the doorway one more night. 18-year-old me didn't. Maybe that's maturity. It's not that we stop striving, but that we stop rushing. Maybe the goal isn't to reach the next thing faster. Maybe I got that all wrong. Maybe the goal is to not miss the thing you're standing in. Because one day, sooner than we all think, we're going to look back on this season, whatever it is, this job, this team, this version of your family, and we're going to realize these were the good old days. So don't wait until they're gone to recognize them. That's destination addiction. And that, my friend, is how we start to break it. Because one day, this version of your life is going to be gone. The team you're surrounded by, the role that you're serving in, the season that you find yourself in. The question is whether you were present for it. Destination addiction convinces us to chase the next thing. But the science of the comeback teaches us something different. Resilience isn't just about rising after we fall. It's about not outrunning our own life in the first place. So friend, if you're navigating a transition, leading high performers or rebuilding identity after loss, I'd love to walk with you. Visit scienceofthecomeback.com. Check out my new app, which is five bucks a month. It can help you navigate your own transitions. Or maybe check out my website at tobybrooksphd.com. For coaching, consulting, speaking, I'd love to bring this message to your organization. So together, let's build something that lasts, not just something that looks good on paper. As always, if I can help you, let me know and I'll do my best to assist. I hope you enjoyed this week's episode. Be sure to check it out on the web. Simply go to undonepodcast.com, EP151, to check out the notes, links, and images related to this week's show. Some quick updates. We had another good week in the rankings, holding pretty steady. I think we're sitting at number six in the world in education and self-improvement. And we're inching back up to number 133 in Apple's top 200. If you want to follow along and see your progress for yourself, you can now go to undonepodcast.com backslash rankings. Cheer us on. If you'd be so kind as to share the show with a friend, leave a comment or review, that would be so very helpful and so deeply appreciated. Coming up, I'm working on some exciting new episodes. Got a follow-up coming with my friend Roger Weip, who was just here in town in Waco last week. His life has undergone some tragic changes since our last chat on the show, but he isn't done yet. I'm also working to finalize a conversation with former strength conditioning coach turned pastor Chris McCormick. So stay tuned for that. This and more coming up on Becoming Undone. Becoming Undone is a Nitro Creative production written and produced by me, Toby Brooks. Tell a friend about the show. Follow along on Facebook, Instagram, and LinkedIn at Becoming Undone Pod. Follow me at Toby Brooks PhD on Facebook, Instagram, and LinkedIn. And check out my link tree at linktr.ee backslash Toby Brooks PhD. As always, listen, subscribe, leave me a review on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, iHeartRadio, or wherever you get new podcasts. Until next time, it's okay to stay one more night. But whatever you do, keep getting better. I'll see you next time. Outro Music
