Recently, I played in a basketball tournament this was the first proper, competitive one I've been part of since my heart attack in 2019. The experience was incredible, to say the least.
I can't speak for the rest of the team, but I was bloody nervous. In the first few minutes, I felt like I was running around like a headless chicken and I really do hope it didn't look that way. The team, in my eyes, seemed hesitant. Everyone looked like they were playing not to make a mistake. Even our best shooter, who's usually all confidence, kept passing instead of taking the shot.
Me, on the other hand I was running all over the place. Barely giving myself time to think, let alone make a good pass. The first halves of both our games were honestly a bit embarrassing. But by the second half, things started to feel different. I wasn't sprinting without reason anymore, the team started taking shots, and somehow, we began cutting into the lead and ended the game from a painful 20+ points down to a slightly less painful 14.
But what really stayed with me wasn't the loss, it was how we lost.
We were a team of ten, and individually, I'd say each of us was pretty good. In a one-on-one, we could've easily held our own against most of the players we faced. But like all team sports, you lose the moment you stop playing as one. And that's exactly where we fell short.
I've never been one to force a "takeaway" out of an experience. It tends to flatten it. But this one really got me thinking.
We live in a world that glorifies the solo story the person who made it big all by themselves. The rags-to-riches tales, the self-made founders, the myth that independence equals strength. Somewhere along the way, we've started to believe that needing others makes us weaker.
But what if it's the other way around?
What if strength isn't in doing it alone, but in knowing when to lean on someone else?
Those games reminded me that understanding your role matters. That when you play it well, you help the person beside you do the same. Strength isn't about being able to score 30 points, it's about setting the perfect screen so your teammate can get an open shot. It's not about being the hero it's about trusting the person behind you to cover your back on defence.
At the end of it all, we walked off the court humbled. We agreed we had the skills, but what we lacked was the time spent together, the training in learning how to move, pass, and trust as one unit.
And maybe that's the truth about more than just basketball.
We live in a world obsessed with building highlight reels. But if you really want to win, you build a team. You learn your role. You play for each other.
Because none of us can do everything, and maybe we were never meant to.