Transcript
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Here's a story about the World Cup that
most people have never heard of. It's
the early 1990s. Almost every country on
Earth is obsessed with soccer. Children
are playing in the streets of Brazil.
The stadiums in England are overflowing.
Italy lives and breathes the sport.
Argentina worships it. The World Cup is
the biggest sporting event on the
planet. And then all the way at the
bottom, there was Japan. A nation known
for its precision and discipline and
excellence. A country that went from
being literally flattened in World War
II into one of the greatest economic
powers on Earth with the best cars and
the best electronics and the best
technology. But in soccer, they stunk.
They had never qualified for a World
Cup. They didn't have a thriving
professional league. They weren't
producing world-class soccer players.
When the soccer world talked about
contenders, nobody talked about Japan.
And if you know anything about the
Japanese culture, they don't exactly sit
comfortably with mediocrity. So in 1992,
leaders of Japanese soccer leagues
gathered together for a meeting in Tokyo
and the agenda was simple. How do we fix
Japanese soccer? And everyone in the
room expected the usual conversation.
Hire a better coach, recruit better
players, copy whatever Europe was doing,
get better training equipment. But then
one executive rose and he asked for
everyone's attention and the room went
quiet.
He said, "I think we're asking the wrong
question.
We all need to forget about winning the
next World Cup or even the one after
that.
We need to stop trying to become a great
soccer team. We need to start becoming a
great soccer nation."
Then the man made a proposal that sound
absurd. "What if we commit ourselves to
a 100-year vision? What if everything we
do from this day forward is aimed at
making Japan a country capable of
winning the World Cup in 100 years from
now? Not in 4 years. Not in 8 years. I
am proposing a plan that will make Japan
win a World Cup in 100 years from
today." And the room goes silent. Did he
just say 100 years from now? You can
imagine the shock of these people. "Yes,
100 years. We need to stop building a
team. We need to start building a
culture. We need youth academies and
professional coaching and community
clubs and fields for children. We need
to develop a pipeline that will produce
talent for generations. We shouldn't try
to create 11 great players now. We
should try to create a nation where
great players will never stop being
produced. And here's the amazing part,
it actually worked." On May 15th, 1993,
the Japanese league kicked off with
packed stadiums. Just 5 years later in
1998, Japan qualified for its first ever
World Cup. In 2002, they hosted the
World Cup and reached the round of of
16. Since 1998, they've qualified for
every single World Cup and they haven't
looked back since. Today, Japan is no
longer viewed as a soccer minnow. It's
one of the strongest football nations in
Asia producing world-class players who
compete in Europe's biggest leagues.
What once seemed impossible became
expected. Why? Because they stopped
trying to change overnight and realized
that change takes time. Now, let me ask
you something. Let's be honest. Do you
have a long-term plan for your spiritual
success? Do you have an actual plan to
conquer lashon hara? Not just, "I really
should work on it." A real plan. Do you
have a real plan to finish Chumash with
Rashi every year? Do you have an actual
plan to improve your tefillah? Not just
a, "Hey, I feel kind of guilty every
time I skim through P'sukei D'Zimrah
without a clue what I'm saying. Maybe
one day I'll figure it out." No, no, no.
Like an actual plan. Do you Do you have
a plan to become more patient? To become
a better husband? A better wife? A
better parent? A better Jew? Because
that's what the Japanese understood.
People don't become great by accident.
They become great by design. The
Japanese didn't just hope their soccer
team would improve. They built a system
with a structure and a roadmap, and it
worked. And that's because human beings
thrive inside of structure. Think about
every area of life. They all have
structure. Schools have curriculum. A
business has a business plan. Architects
have blueprints. Pilots have flight
plans. Athletes have training schedules.
Nobody who wants to accomplish something
important says, "You know what? I'm just
going to wing it."
Yet somehow, when it comes to becoming
the spiritual people that we dream of
becoming, many of us have no roadmap at
all. We might have dreams. We might have
good intentions. We might have
inspiration, but many people don't have
a plan on how to act on that inspiration
long-term. If I asked you where you hope
to be spiritually 5 years from now,
could you tell me how exactly you're
planning on getting there?
Growth isn't something you stumble into.
It's something you build one decision,
one habit, one commitment, one day at a
time. So many people become discouraged
because they don't say they don't see
immediate success in their spiritual
goals. They had these high hopes for
their kavod and tiferet. They wanted to
live a life without lashon hara. They've
been trying to become more patient and
more grateful and more giving, but
because they aren't where they hoped
they'd be after 4 months, they start
thinking, "You know what? Maybe I'm just
not cut out for this. Maybe I'll never
change. Maybe that's just not who I am."
But maybe that's looking at it all
wrong. If Japan adopted a 100-year
vision for soccer, why do we expect to
conquer ourselves in 6 months?
Look at yourself as having a 120-year
plan for your spiritual World Cup. Why
are you declaring yourself a failure at
age 19 or at age 27 or at age 44? The
story's not over. You're still becoming
the person Hashem created you to be, and
that's why Hashem didn't just give us
goals, he gave us a structure. The Torah
is the greatest framework for personal
growth ever given to humanity. A daily
schedule of mitzvahs with a rhythm of
tefillah and weekly shabbat and yearly
yom tov,
which are constant opportunities to
learn and grow and refine ourselves.
Hashem didn't just leave us fumbling
around in the dark hoping somehow we'd
some way become great. No, he gave us a
road map. Our job isn't to become
perfect overnight. Our job is to trust
the process and keep walking through it.
Structure doesn't limit a person, it
liberates a person. It turns dreams into
destinations. Maybe the greatest
question you should be asking isn't what
kind of Jew do I want to be? Maybe it's
what's my plan in getting there.
