We Tell Ourselves Stories In Order To Live

What can we be in this lifetime but ourselves?

Photo by Clayton Robbins on Unsplash

I am a 6 foot tall black man who was the first or second pick in almost every pick up basketball & football game almost to this day.

Basketball was my first sport I loved. I practiced the techniques of the sport: dribble, shoot, & layups with both hands, defensive footwork, & rebounding the ball.

An observer in my life would have thought I ate, slept, & lived basketball.

For a time this might have also been true.

But a conflict presented itself & it came in the form of a Langston Hughes and Maya Angelou. The first poets my parents introduced me too, brought a new perspective on life I was always aware of but had unconsciously ignored. From there my outlook grew.

The emergence of poetry in my life presented me with an introspective nature — perceiving life from the inside out — which my introverted tendencies easily consumed.

This lead me to becoming the first pick in a pick up game & the first person to leave when dusk hit & write about what it felt like to dribble the basketball in the sun.

My athletic stature told one story.