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Turning Silence into Strength: How I Finished “Baseball Card Heroes” Without the Support I Thought I Needed
Sometimes in life, we expect certain people to be there for us—the friends, family, and mentors we rely on to cheer us on and offer support. We tell ourselves, “If they just believed in me, I could accomplish anything.” But what happens when the people we think will stand beside us aren’t there when we need them the most?
This is my story of finishing my book, Baseball Card Heroes, even though I felt like the world around me was silent… and even though the friends I thought would support me didn’t show up the way I imagined.
I’d been working on my book for a long time—Baseball Card Heroes has been a dream of mine for years. It’s not just another sports book. It’s a love letter to the game, a tribute to the players who have inspired me, shaped my life, and taught me about perseverance. Writing it was not just about documenting baseball history; it was a personal journey, a way for me to connect with my heroes and, in some small way, become one myself.
But here’s the truth: when I started, I thought I’d have the support I needed. I envisioned long conversations with friends about ideas, people rooting for me, offering encouragement. Instead, I faced silence. No replies to my messages. No feedback. It felt like I was walking this journey alone, and at times, I wondered whether my dream was even worth chasing.
There were days when I wanted to give up, days when I questioned whether I could continue without that external validation. It’s a tough feeling to want to share something you’re passionate about, only to hear crickets in return. I thought about all those moments where friends had cheered me on in the past and wondered why they couldn’t do the same now.
I asked myself: Why do I need them? Why do I need their approval to validate this passion?
The answer came slowly but surely: I don’t need them to make this dream come true.
As much as I had hoped for that external encouragement, I had to turn inward. I had to dig deeper, rely on my own belief in the project, and trust that if I kept working, kept writing, I would finish this book—regardless of the silence surrounding me.
With each chapter I wrote, the absence of external validation became less important. Instead of looking for applause from others, I focused on what I was doing. I thought about the heroes who had inspired me—the athletes, the legends, the underdogs—and I realized that this book was about them. This was my gift to the game, my way of giving back to something I loved so deeply.
I didn’t need anyone else to tell me it was worth it.
And then, the day came. I had written the final sentence of Baseball Card Heroes. There was no big celebration. No party. No high fives. I sat in my chair, quietly, with the realization that I’d done it—despite the silence. Despite the moments of doubt. Despite the friends who didn’t show up in the way I thought they would.
It wasn’t about them. It was about me. And it was about the heroes who had shaped my life.
Finishing Baseball Card Heroes taught me a powerful lesson: Sometimes, the only person you need to believe in you is yourself. The journey isn’t always going to be easy, and the people you think will cheer you on might not be there when you need them the most. But that doesn’t mean you can’t finish. It doesn’t mean your dreams are any less valid.
If you have something you’re passionate about, something that drives you—even if you feel like you’re doing it alone—keep going. You don’t need anyone’s permission. The only thing you need is to keep moving forward, even if it feels like you’re the only one in the room.
As for me, I’m proud of what I’ve accomplished. The journey wasn’t easy, but it was mine. And the silence? It just became the background noise to the story I was telling—one about perseverance, passion, and the realization that sometimes, you’re your own biggest fan.
Baseball Card Heroes is now finished, and I’m more excited than ever to share it with the world. But the most important thing I learned along the way was that it was never about waiting for others to believe in me. It was about believing in myself.
And that, in the end, is all I really needed.
People just like knocking me down
I had a great conversation with Michael Unger (@UDeck1990 on X) about his baseball card postings on social media; it was a wonderful discussion about baseball players from the 1990s.
While that was a great discussion, as I mentioned during the episode, people are vicious if they don’t agree with you.
There’s an example of a situation with a coworker many years ago, when I mentioned that a certain player (who made his major-league debut in that same decade of the 1990s) was overrated. That player happened to be my coworker’s favourite players — or at least one of his favourites. This was an in-person comment that I made when we were discussing baseball.
The coworker began targeting me ever since, for the duration of my time in that organization. First, he sent me a lengthy email stating why I was wrong and why that player was not overrated. Then he just stopped cooperating with me at work. He eventually attempted to get me fired, coming up with a devious scheme.
I left that organization shortly after, but I’m better for it. It was a toxic environment and not just because of that coworker. Management was incompetent, for the most part, and did not appreciate hard work. They appreciated those who kissed asses while not working hard or working smart.
After leaving, I went through a period where I became productive with other projects and also learned who my friends were and who weren’t. I reached out to some “friends” and lamented that I had left my company — and most of them never contacted me again. They cut me off, cut me out, because — apparently — they thought I was a lowlife who didn’t have a job.
But I was productive in other areas, and I’m proud of some of the things I did during that time.
Anyway, that’s just one story. And this one started because I made a comment about a baseball player (who, incidentally, has already passed away) that the coworker liked.
Seriously?
Like I said, people are vicious. They just are.
(Note: The player whom I said was overrated had the same pitching style as another pitcher that I mentioned in the podcast, but I won’t say that deceased player’s name.)
k. p. wee 