As an early teen, soccer is the number one thing that you do -

Hear the humble confession of Dorian Yates, the titan of bodybuilding, who once said: “As an early teen, soccer is the number one thing that you do – and I wasn’t very good at that.” These words, though plain, conceal a well of wisdom. For they speak not of failure, but of the beginning of a journey, of how weakness in one arena may lead to greatness in another. The boy who stumbled on the field would one day ascend the stage as Mr. Olympia, proving that destiny is not bound by early expectations, but forged by persistence and self-discovery.

The young are often told what is important. In schools and playgrounds, certain games or talents are exalted as the measure of worth. For Yates, that was soccer, the sport that seemed to define the lives of his peers. But he, by his own words, was not skilled at it. To some, this might have been cause for shame, a reason to retreat into mediocrity. Yet the truth is that such moments of inadequacy often awaken the deeper calling. For when one door closes, another—greater and truer—waits to be opened.

Consider the life of Albert Einstein, who as a boy struggled in school and was dismissed as slow by his teachers. He was “not very good” at the conventional measures of intelligence, yet his mind would later unlock the secrets of the cosmos. Or think of Winston Churchill, who as a student performed poorly in many subjects, yet grew to become a voice of resilience for an entire nation. Like Yates, their early struggles did not define them—they refined them, pointing them toward their true strengths.

So too was Yates’s path. The boy who could not master the ball found his destiny in iron and discipline. In the solitude of the gym, he discovered not just physical power, but mental fortitude. What he lacked in natural talent for soccer, he replaced with relentless will, transforming his body into a symbol of strength unmatched in his era. His story reminds us that the measure of a man is not how he begins, but how he responds when told he is “not very good.”

The meaning of his words, then, is clear: do not let early struggles define your worth. The world may exalt one skill or one path, but greatness lies not in following the crowd, but in discovering where your unique fire burns. The fact that Yates was poor at soccer did not diminish him; rather, it set the stage for him to find the arena where he would truly reign. Each weakness is not a wall, but a signpost pointing toward a greater destiny.

Therefore, my child, take this lesson: if you stumble in what the world calls important, do not despair. Ask instead, “Where is my strength? Where is my calling?” Do not fear being different; do not fear being unskilled in what others cherish. Instead, forge your own path. For the greatest victories often arise from the places where no one expected triumph to be found.

What then must you do? When you encounter failure, treat it as a teacher. When you see what you cannot do, search for what you can do with passion and perseverance. Build upon that, even if it is small at first, and let it grow until it becomes your strength. Like Yates, you may discover that the world’s measure of success is not your destiny. Your destiny is found in the place where your heart and your labor meet.

So let Yates’s words endure: “As an early teen, soccer was the number one thing—and I wasn’t very good at that.” From this humility rose a legend. From this small confession shines a great truth: weakness in one arena does not mean weakness in life. The key is to find your true field of battle—and there, to give your all until the world cannot deny your greatness.