I'm Taking the Summer
A short letter before the season changes
The screen was still open when I finally admitted it to myself. The registration file for the next Dojo — names of coaches who’d signed up, sitting there waiting for me to do something with it. I didn’t open it. I just sat there, cursor blinking, and that told me everything I needed to know.
The File I Didn’t Open
I’ve been carrying a lot this past year. Not in the way you announce — in the quieter way where you keep saying yes to the things that matter and don’t notice until a Thursday evening that you haven’t had an unscheduled hour in longer than you can remember. The Dojo preparation. The clinic materials. The main job which consumes most of the waking hours. The coaching. The writing. Each one worth doing. None of them, on its own, too much.
Together: too much.
I cancelled the June Game-First Dojo for coaches like you not because something came up. Because something ran out.
And underneath all of it, something I haven’t said out loud yet: the job I show up for each day — the one that pays the bills and isn’t this — has stopped delivering what I need from it. That’s not a complaint. It’s just a fact that’s been sitting in the room for a while, growing heavier, and eventually everything else has to carry more than it should.
What I Actually Liked
Here’s what I want to be clear about: I liked the Dojos. I liked the conversations with coaches who think about this stuff the way I do, the half-finished ideas that turned into something new and exciting, the feeling of showing up and finding people already mid-thought. That meant something.
The Krefeld basketball clinic I gave two weeks ago was different — coaches in the room, actually playing, and the thing I coach for suddenly visible in real time. I left that weekend knowing I’d touched the part of this work that costs me nothing and gives the most.
Both of these are true. The Dojos mattered. Krefeld was alive in a way I want more of. And I’m still one person with a finite number of hours, and some of those hours need to go toward getting my breath back. This pause is about capacity, not verdict.
🙋♂️
If you’ve been in a Dojo, or at a clinic, or just in the comment thread somewhere — thank you. That’s what made any of this real.
What I Don’t Want to Lose
The people. That’s the simple answer. The coaches who’ve come through a session or a clinic, or a comment here on Substack — that connection is the reason I built any of this. Not the marketing side of it, not the analytics or the schedule or what the subscriber count looks like on a Tuesday. The actual relationship. Someone sends me a question about a drill they’ve been wrestling with, and I’m still here. That part doesn’t pause.
The administrative side of running a side business can wait. The human side can’t, and I don’t want it to.
The writing continues, probably at the same rhythm, because writing is the one thing that gives me more energy than it takes. If you’ve been reading for a while, you’ll still hear from me through summer.
What Pauses, and What Opens
The monthly online Dojos pause through June, July, and August. No live sessions, no time zone issues, no scheduling math.
One thing stays open: if a club has their coaches ready and wants an in-person session, I’m available for that. That kind of morning or afternoon — actual play happening, one group’s worth of questions, a room full of people who showed up to work — doesn’t cost the same as everything else. Same with 1-on-1s. I love doing them. They give back. So if that’s you, reach out. That conversation is very much alive.
What opens instead — and only if you want it: send me a drill you’ve been sitting on. Sketch it, describe it, voice-record it, whatever works. I’ll pick one and redesign it through the lens I use for everything. Short voice note or screen recording back to you. Maybe published in anonymized form if you’re fine with that. Not a product, not a webinar, not a funnel.
Just the part of this work I’m best at, done quietly, for one drill at a time.
If that sounds like something you’d use — you already know where to find me.
September
In autumn I’ll look at this again. With rested eyes, I hope. There’s no plan for what that looks like yet. I’ll know more when I get there.
Still Here
The registration file is still on my desktop. I’ll close it tonight — not because the names don’t matter, but because the most useful thing I can do for everyone on that list right now is come back to them whole.
I’m taking the summer.
Still here.
🌀
If something in this letter landed — or if you have a drill ready to send — drop it in the comments or hit reply. I read everything.
Rolf is a non-linear pedagogy advocate, author, and coach developer from Germany. He writes about humane coaching, purposeful change, and the road toward dreams worth chasing.
If his work resonates, why not walk a stretch of the road with him?
📌 PS: If this post meant something, would you consider restacking or forwarding it? It’s public. Share freely.
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Weight Carried, Love Shared — On why allowing yourself to receive help changes the weight for everyone