Art by Autumn Hardwick
A familiar object sits in the corner of my room.
The sunset orange colors stare back at me as I contemplate my decisions. The stress of schoolwork, among other things, has brought me to a breaking point.
The answer is right there. So, I grab my basketball, lace my shoes and go to work. It doesn’t matter whether it’s on the concrete or on the hardwood.
A form of therapy unlike any other ensues.
A couple of close shots start my routine. Then, I go to the one-dribble pull-up. The classic fundamental move that is lost in the modern game. Nothing too special, nothing too complicated.
A couple of fancy dribbles later, another shot goes up. Then another. Then another.
Then, I go to my favorite shot—the 3-pointer. Beyond the painted lines, I align my shooting hip and elbow. A simple spin of the basketball and a hop later, the shot goes up. The immediate joy I receive after seeing a long-distance shot swish in the basket is like no other.
The dopamine, it’s like a drug — addictive. I try again and again and again. Shot after shot. A miss here and there (OK, who are we kidding? There are a couple more misses than makes). Regardless, the joy and love for the game are there. And will always be there.
It’s already been 15 minutes. Then 30, then an hour. Wait. Is it already 10 p.m.? Oh well. That’s how it usually goes anyway.
My body aches, my knees sore, but I keep going. Why? Because basketball gives me all I need.
It completes me like the peanut butter to my jelly. And basketball has been my peanut butter for as long as I remember.
Since I was 6, I’ve been lucky enough to experience the highs and lows that basketball brings me. Learning the lessons of painful losses and experiencing the joys of impossible comeback wins. The sport of basketball is something I will never take for granted.
Negative thoughts fade away, as do I while I do my best Michael Jordan impersonation and fade away. The noise of the ball hitting the backboard brings me back to reality.
But I laugh it off. Chasing after the ball, I realize something. I’ve never been freer. As the ball releases from my fingertips, so do my worries and stresses.
There’s usually music in the background as well. There’s something about hip-hop and basketball that works so well together. The familiar lyrics of Drake’s Knife Talk run through my Spotify playlist.
It gets me hyped.
Using my imagination, I picture that it’s the end of the fourth quarter. The game is tied. Coming out of the timeout, the ball finds me, and I call for the isolation. Like all the greats, the ball goes through the hoop when the buzzer sounds.
Concluding my therapy session on a high note, I end the workout with some free throws.
Always leave the gym on a made basket. Always.
As I return to my stresses in life, I take one look back.
“We’ll see each other again,” I say to myself. Though, probably not tomorrow because my knees are way too sore.
But the game of basketball has always been there for me. So, I type this letter as a note of appreciation.
Dear basketball, thank you.
Sincerely, Jerry Jiang.
_____________
Follow the Graphic on Twitter: @PeppGraphic
Contact Jerry Jiang via Twitter ( @j_jiang30 ) or via email: jerry.jiang@pepperdine.edu
