Rock Bottom Had a Schedule

I never realized how much basketball did for me beyond the game itself.

For years, I was told where to be, what time to be there, and what to do when I arrived. Practice, film, shoot arounds, appearances, games. The schedule was built in. I never had to think about how to fill a day because the day was already filled for me.

Then, all of a sudden it was gone and I was left standing in my own house asking myself a question I had never had to ask before: what am I going to do today?

It sounds simple. It’s not. I went from being a practitioner of my craft, a professional who knew exactly what the next task was at all times to not even knowing what else happens in a day outside of the gym. I had no idea how to take care of my children on a daily basis. I was astounded at how loud they were during their playtime, right in the middle of what used to be my pre-game nap. The world I had been living in was so structured, so consuming, that I had missed the rhythm of my own household.

My ego took a huge hit. I had to learn to appreciate doing the small things around the house that I used to run from—changing a dirty diaper, taking out the trash, keeping things in order. I won’t lie, there was an automatic feeling that these things were beneath me. But I had to learn to appreciate doing them because they’re part of what helps the day move. They help the house function. And I had to realize that if I don’t help do it, how will it get done?

Nothing is beneath us.

Meanwhile, the outside world moved on fast. The phone didn’t ring as much as it used to. People didn’t check on me the way they once did. The circle around you changes very quickly when the thing that connected you disappears. I couldn’t help but feel that life had simply left me behind.

The hardest part about being a beginner again was knowing that your daily output wasn’t going to be your best. I learned this most clearly when I signed up for an art class.

Art was something that had always been in my orbit. I had done it when I was younger, and I figured it would be a good way to pass the time and put it to use. But when you step into a class as a beginner, you get humbled fast. The work you create doesn’t look the way you want it to look, because you’re automatically comparing yourself to people who have been doing it for years.

Then something shifted. I started noticing that the other students, people who were older, more experienced were being judgmental of their own work. Work that looked pretty good to me. They could always find a reason to not like what they had finished. And here I was, a true beginner, just happy to be getting back into a groove. It made me feel less bad about where I was. It made me realize that maybe the problem isn’t being a beginner, it’s forgetting how to appreciate the process.

At home, the shift came through my kids. I started being more appreciative once I saw the smiles on their faces. Then I understood something deeper: they need me to be around. They didn’t ask to be here. It’s on me to help their day go as well as possible. It took some time, but helping the house find a good groove became important to me—not because it was glamorous, but because it helped everything run smoother, including me.

If you’re reading this and you’re resisting starting over. If something in you is saying that you’re bigger than the task at hand, I get it. I felt it too. But here’s what I’ve found: there are hidden meanings behind those small tasks. They teach you things about yourself that the big stage never did.

If you feel like you should be further along, remember that we all started from somewhere. Even a professional athlete, someone at the top of their craft, started at the bottom, hoping that one day they’d build enough skill to be good. There’s nothing wrong with returning to that place. It can be humbling, but that humility reminds us that we’re human.

My training mentality eventually kicked back in. The same discipline that got me to the professional level started showing up in the small things. And it reminded me of something I had always known but had forgotten: putting in the work day by day will eventually get you somewhere you want to be.

You don’t have to know where you’re going yet. You just have to start.