“Slow and reverse.”
That’s how my dad playfully explained my brother's speed during one of his basketball games. All I could do was laugh…because it was true.
My brother and I started playing basketball at the same time. Me at 10 and him at 2. By the time he was 8, his skills were notable to anyone who caught a glimpse of him practicing. While he put those skills on display during his games, they weren’t the only thing a passerby would notice (queue slow-mo sound effects).
In a sport where athleticism and height reign supreme, my brother remained shorter, chubbier and slower than most of his peers during his childhood. As a result, he learned to play in a way that took advantage of what he did have – strength, artful ballhandling and awe-inspiring court vision. Sometimes they were enough and sometimes they weren’t.
Fast forward to 8th grade and my brother was now the starting quarterback for his middle school team. Still slow, his solid arm and clean footwork were enough to convince the coaches to put him in charge of their run-heavy offense. Through the first three games of the season, my brother managed to trudge his way into the end zone once.
Then, something I can only describe as magical occurred. In the middle of the season, my brother hit puberty and reincarnated as Reggie Bush.
Not really but he did go from being the “slow” kid to the “wow he’s kind of quick” kid. And that was enough.
During the second half of the season, all hell broke loose as his once tamed jukes now left defenders in puddles. Rather than staying behind blocks to gain a yard or two, he used the spacial awareness he’d developed, along with his newfound speed, to slip past teammates and defenders alike on his way to the endzone. Over the next three games, my brother scored 9 touchdowns and relinquished his role as quarterback to become the team’s full-time running back.
That winter my brother went on to try out for and make the varsity basketball team (yes as an 8th grader). He was still a floor general who prioritized skill and pace but now he had just enough quickness to get to the places his feet had only dreamed about prior.
As his high school career progressed, my brother became a 5’9’ 185 lb passing savant with a six-pack and a knack for putting the ball in the basket at a clip of 18 points per game. While his athletic limitations made competing difficult as a youth, the skills he developed as a result of them ultimately became what made him a special athlete.
As I consider my creative journey, my brother’s story reminds me that my limitations are not simply obstacles to overcome but the very catalysts for the rich art I create. Just as he turned his physical constraints into athletic prowess, I strive to embrace the unique perspective my limitations provide me as I turn them into fuel for my artistic expression.
Look with imaginative eyes.
A creative note I found myself pondering as I wrote this piece.
Notes for the Week:
Push the boundaries on what’s been made.
A note from It’s Easier to Be a Critic Than a Creator by
Have wisdom and write more.
A note from I'm in the NEW YORK TIMES!! by
Really see me.
A note from How I made my student cry (happy tears) by
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People always knock sports metaphors as being reductive, but there's actually so much to learn and glean from athletes and athletics, and, as you note here, a lot we creatives can apply.
It's so true that we must consider and lean into our own limitations, and this is especially important with comparisons. If every basketball player tried to be MJ or LeBron of Steph, they'd probably fail, but that doesn't mean they can't be successful basketball players. There are more levels than "all time great" and "failure," and sure, while I think there's value in striving for greatness, that doesnt mean we should lose hope if we're, by nature, limited.
Lovely piece. I love how the story tied neatly into the main gist of the article