Two figure skaters took the ice in Milan this month.

21-year-old Ilia Malinin was the overwhelming favorite. The "Quad God." Undefeated for three years. Expected to win gold by a massive margin.

After his performance, he finished eighth. No medal.

He said the pressure was too much to handle.

20-year-old Alysa Liu skated days later. She had retired at 16, walked away from the sport she dominated since childhood, and came back two years later.

When asked how she handled Olympic pressure, she looked genuinely confused.

She won gold.

When Ilia talked about the pressure being "too much to handle," he was describing the weight of everyone's expectations. The favorite. The "Quad God." The jumps no one else can do. The gold medal he was supposed to win.

He carried all of that onto the ice with him.

When Alysa said she didn't understand what Olympic pressure is, she wasn't being flippant. She genuinely didn't understand the question. Not because she's mentally tougher. Not because she doesn't care about winning.

Because she figured out how to not carry the weight of other people's expectations.

This isn't an indictment of Ilia. He's 21. He's been in the system his entire life. What Alysa discovered isn't taught. It's not modeled. And most don't get the chance to step away and find it.

Alysa did.

This wasn't about mental toughness. This wasn't about handling pressure better.

She understood something rare: she existed outside of skating.

After Beijing 2022, she didn't just take a break. She quit. Walked away at 16.

She went to UCLA and studied psychology. She went backpacking with friends. She got a frenulum piercing that shows when she smiles. She became her own person. Not "Alysa Liu, figure skater." Just Alysa.

For two years, she lived her life. She remembered who she was when she wasn't performing.

When she came back to skating in 2024, she came back whole. She wasn't trying to prove anything. She wasn't skating to validate her existence. She was skating because she wanted to, not because she needed to.

She won for a lot of reasons. Talent. Training. Good health. Excellent coaching.

But she also removed a massive blockage that crushes most performers: being caught up in the outcome.

She knew who she was apart from her performance.

Most athletes never do what Alysa Liu did.

They never leave. They never go find out who they are outside their sport.

This isn't a failure on their part. It's the path. Youth leagues to high school to college to professional. Or Olympics to Olympics. Every identity marker is tied to performance. Every relationship is built around their sport. Every conversation starts with their latest result.

And then one day it's over.

Injury. Age. A bad Olympics. A failed comeback.

And they're left with a question they've never had to answer: Who am I when I'm not performing?

Many of them don't have an answer.

I was on a call Monday with a reader. Former pro football player. Years removed from the game.

He told me about the thoughts of suicide. The collapse after his career ended. The years of not knowing who he was without the uniform, the stadium, the roar.

He's doing well now. Grace of his spouse. Divine intervention. Therapy. Time.

Today he's building something that far exceeds the impact he had playing football. Helping young athletes understand what he didn't. Creating pathways for others to discover who they are before the uniform comes off.

But he had to go through the collapse first.

This wasn't the first conversation like this.

A former NFL agent told me a similar story recently. A longtime basketball coach said the same thing. Different details, same pattern.

They didn't know who they were separate from their performance.

Their identity was fused with what they did. When performance ended, their sense of self disappeared. Their purpose evaporated. And a human being without purpose is in crisis.

Depression. Anxiety. Sometimes worse.

Not because they're weak. Not because they lack resilience.

Because nobody taught them to answer the question: Who am I when I'm not performing?

You see this same pattern in business.

A founder I spoke with several years ago sold his company for eight figures.

The deal closed. The money hit his account.

He spent the next two weeks sitting in a coffee shop refreshing his bank balance.

Completely lost. He told me it felt like his wife died. He missed the daily grind. The problems to solve. The team to lead.

For months he stopped showing up for his actual wife and kids. He had everything he thought he wanted and no idea who he was without the company.

It took personal work for him to realize: he didn't have to retire.

He was wired to build. Once he saw that, he started building his next company. Not to prove anything. Not to replace what he lost. Because building is who he is.

The entrepreneur whose identity is their business. The executive wrapped up in their title and trajectory. The coach building their sense of self on client results and testimonials.

When the business struggles, they're having an identity crisis.

When they exit or retire or pivot, when a launch fails or a client leaves or a product doesn't work, they're not just disappointed. They're questioning their worth as a human being.

Because their identity never extended past their role.

I've been watching this pattern for months now.

Programs about athletes struggling post-retirement. Articles about executives in crisis after exits. The Zoom calls. The conversations with coaches, agents, entrepreneurs.

All pointing to the same thing.

And then I watched Alysa Liu skate. I read about her walking away at 16. Going to UCLA. Becoming her own person. Coming back whole.

Another wink from life that I'm on the right path.

This is my life's work.

Not helping people find their next performance. Not coaching them to a bigger business or a better result.

Helping them discover who they are beneath all the performances.

So when the business ends, the title changes, the career shifts, the body gives out, they don't collapse.

They transition. Gracefully. Powerfully.

Because they already know who they are.

Too many skip this work. They go straight from one performance to the next.

Athlete to coach. Executive to consultant. Business owner to advisor.

They change what they do without ever figuring out who they are.

The pressure follows them. The attachment to outcomes follows them. The identity crisis is just delayed.

The way Alysa Liu did it? She left. She lived. She discovered who she was apart from skating. Then she came back whole.

Your business is going well. You're not retiring. You're not an elite athlete.

But ask yourself this:

If your business disappeared tomorrow, who would you be?

Not what would you do next. Who would you be?

If your title was stripped away. If your income stopped. If your industry collapsed. If your health forced you to stop.

Who are you beyond what you do?

Many can't answer that question without panic.

That panic is the warning sign.

The time to do this work is now. Before the pressure breaks you. Before the identity crisis hits. Before you lose what you've built your entire sense of self around.

Until next week,

-Coach Reg

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