I was always obsessed with basketball. My two-year-old self sat plopped in front of the box TV watching the late ’90s Bulls. Michael Jordan skying through the air.
As I grew up, the obsession got bigger. I went from playing basketball to watching basketball to thinking about basketball. I even collected cards. I knew the statistics of NBA superstars from the 40s and 50s. I could talk to dads and grandfathers about their favorite players who lived decades before me. I played in the driveway nonstop. I remembered reading about Kareem Abdul-Jabarr spending six to eight hours practicing every day, and I did the same in the summers. Video games did not interest me. But basketball in the driveway did. Using my imagination to play with the all-time greats, learning new moves, and mastering skills – this was real.
I dedicated every day to getting better. Whether that was an hour and a half after school and homework or to practice a few drills before a local park game or shoot countless jump shots at the nearby health club while my dad worked out upstairs. I played every day, every week, every month, and all year. It was the biggest thing I cared about and the steadiest thing in my life.
There were no substitutes for basketball.
If I was on YouTube, it was to watch training videos. If I was using my phone, it was to text people to play pickup. If I was at a friend’s house, I was pestering them to shoot with me. Nothing could pull me away.
But, when I was a sophomore in high school I got an iPhone. I remember gearing up for a high school game around Christmas time and posting an Instagram photo. Twenty minutes after I posted it, I left warm-ups. I went to my locker, picked up my phone, and checked the number of likes. I was hooked.
My obsession with the sport of basketball shifted into an obsession with my self-image. The more I became attached to social media, the more insecure I felt. I became terrified of not measuring up. Or of looking bad. Or of people not being attracted to me. Everything became a performance, and much of life lost its joy.
I don’t think I’m alone in this experience either. Years of editing, filtering, posting, checking, re-checking, scrolling, and waiting for it all to be enough really impacted me. I also don’t think we realize how much this social game affects our relationships with ourselves, others, and the activities we love. Hopefully, we can begin to see these connections. And reconnect to that childlike passion we have for life and things we love – like basketball.
