Right Game. Wrong Playbook.

There’s a moment that happens when you’ve been walking the wrong path. You think you’re getting close to something — a business, a brand, a future — and one day, you realize you’re nowhere close to where you’re meant to be.

It didn’t happen overnight for me. It happened slowly. A dozen small decisions that each seemed like they were part of “the way it’s done.” I had stepped into a new arena — writing, speaking, personal development — and it seemed like everyone had a blueprint I was supposed to follow.

They all sounded the same.

Here’s how you build your funnel. It’s all math.

Here’s your 60-second pitch.

Here’s your brand in five sentences. Just fill in the blanks.

Here’s how to talk, sell, and show up.

I went along. These people looked successful. Some of them even had something to say. They praised me. But there was a disconnect. I kept thinking, this isn’t familiar. Why does this feel too easy? Why am I not working harder? I had this constant tug, like I was missing something — like success was supposed to cost more than this. Not because it needs to be miserable. But because, deep down, I knew how hard I’d worked for the wins that mattered in my life. And this wasn’t that.

It didn’t feel like how I’d ever done things. It didn’t feel like me. What I realized — and it took me longer than I wish it had — was that I was trying to succeed using someone else’s playbook. And not only that, I was ignoring everything I already knew about how I win. That’s a brutal place to be.

Here’s the best way I can describe it. Imagine you’ve got Tom Brady — arguably the greatest quarterback of all time — and you tell him, “We love you. We believe in you. Now go win the Super Bowl. But here’s the thing — you’re not allowed to do it the way you’ve always done it.” You’re asking someone to win without using the thing that makes them great. That’s what I was doing. I had decades of proof about what worked for me — in pharma, in ranching, in triathlon, as a woman. But somehow I let myself believe that those wins didn’t count anymore. Or maybe I just forgot what I knew.

So I started running the ball. And I got my ass kicked.

There was one conversation that changed everything. I was visiting with John Kennedy, the founder of Combat Brain Training — someone I deeply respect for his work with soldiers and trauma recovery. John teaches mental agility. He helps people rewire their brains so they can shift quickly between high-stress and calm environments. I’ve seen him do extraordinary things with military professionals, and his insight is surgical.

We were talking, and he asked me something simple: “What’s your system now?”

And I didn’t have an answer.

I couldn’t believe it. I had built entire careers on strong systems and processes. And here I was, building something new — with no structure, no rhythm, no clarity. Just chasing someone else’s version of “should.” The inability to answer the question haunted me — not just because I didn’t have an answer, but because I knew he was right. And that realization broke me wide open.

Looking back, I had a system for everything that mattered. In pharma, I followed a consistent pattern. I saw two-thirds of my doctors in the morning, the rest after lunch. I got up at the same time every day. I delivered the message, over and over. I didn’t try to win on one call — I trusted the process. On the ranch, it was rotational grazing. Pulling cattle in, setting lines, walking the land, managing it with intention. In triathlon, especially my second season, I never missed a training block. Swim, bike, run, strength, rest. Every day had a purpose. Even as a woman, I built a routine. My makeup, my wardrobe, how I presented myself — it was all consistent and intentional. It was my way of showing up fully, clearly, and without apology.

So when John asked me about my system — and I didn’t have one — it all came crashing in.

People think rock-bottom is about loss or disaster. That’s not what it was for me. My rock-bottom moment was realizing I had walked so far away from the way I win — from having systems and processes that actually worked — that I didn’t even recognize the way I was working anymore. I found myself right back at the same kind of crossroads where everything had started. But now I was standing there with all the knowledge. Knowledge from failing by playing someone else’s game — and knowledge from winning, again and again, by playing my own. That was the moment I decided to stop running the ball.

The first shift I made was pulling the book launch off someone else’s timeline. I had been forcing it. Trying to make it fit the strategy. And it felt awful. So I stopped. I slowed down. I launched my book my way — with my team, on my terms. And it was a massive success.

That’s when I started winning again. Not because I forced something new, but because I finally returned to what I already knew about how I win.

You don’t need someone else’s template. You don’t need the five-step method. You don’t need to abandon everything that’s ever worked for you.

You just need to remember how you win.

Where in your life are you trying to run the ball when you’ve always passed it?

Is there a system you used to follow that made you feel clear and effective — and would it serve you now to return to it?

And maybe most importantly… have you trusted someone else’s plan so deeply that you stopped trusting your own?

Let’s talk about it. Because this is just part one.

Until next time,

Andrea Leigh