After watching enough home improvement shows that afternoon to practically renovate Waco, TX, I decided it was time for a break. The rain poured down outside, perfect for curling up with a classic movie. As I scrolled through the channels, I found The Natural. I’ve seen it so many times I could quote it in my sleep, but something about that rainy Sunday afternoon told me it was time for round 101. By the time the credits rolled, I was sitting on the couch in tears—again.

If you haven’t seen The Natural, here’s the gist: Roy Hobbs, played by Robert Redford, is a baseball prodigy. A bizarre incident with a mysterious woman derails his career. Fifteen years later, Roy returns, older and wiser, with a bat he carved from a lightning-struck tree. Despite his talent, Roy’s manager benches him, missing the obvious. Roy remains patient—really patient—knowing his time will come. When it does, during a simple batting practice, he smashes baseballs into oblivion, leaving everyone—including the stubborn manager—speechless.

Roy doesn’t just play; he leads. He becomes the team’s anchor, the reason they even have a shot at the playoffs. Then comes the final scene—oh, that final scene. It’s so powerful it should come with a warning: May cause spontaneous tears and a deep belief in the power of baseball.

The game is on the line. The stadium buzzes with tension. A big farm boy from the Midwest takes the mound, mirroring Roy’s humble beginnings. The crowd holds its breath. Roy steps up to the plate. Just when you think the drama couldn’t get any more intense, lightning strikes—literally just as he hits a booming foul ball. As Roy walks back he realizes his beloved bat has broken. (Que the music.)  He tells the Bat Boy to pick him out a winner and he returns with the bat they made together earlier, a symbol of hope. With the count full, Roy smashes the ball into the sky. The stadium lights explode in a shower of sparks, with Randy Newman’s score swelling in the background. It’s a moment so perfectly crafted, it feels magical.

That’s when it hit me: I’m in the middle of my own journey, one that mirrors Roy’s patience and perseverance. I’ve hit homers in over 200 presentations, workshops, and session talks. I’ve seen the impact I can make, felt the energy in the room, and watched as audiences were inspired and moved. But here’s the thing—I haven’t yet gotten the call from the coach. The event planners and decision-makers who can give me the at-bats I need to prove myself on a grander scale haven’t fully noticed me yet.

But, like Roy Hobbs, I’m not giving up. I’m showing up to every game, ready to knock it out of the park. Patience isn’t just about waiting; it’s about preparing. It’s about making sure that when the moment comes—whether it’s a big stage or a small room—I’m ready to give it everything I’ve got. For me, that preparation involves refining my message, honing my delivery, and staying active and engaged with my audience. That means writing blog posts like this one, hosting and appearing on podcasts, creating YouTube videos, and connecting with other speakers and associations. I know my time will come. When it does, I’ll be ready, bat in hand, to inspire thousands just like Roy inspired his team. Persistence isn’t just about showing up—it’s about showing up prepared.

So, the next time life hands you a broken bat, remember Roy Hobbs. Be patient, stay focused, and when the time comes, swing for the fences. Your moment will come. When it does, make sure you’re ready to shine.

And for those people with an event and need a major league player please put me in coach.