In the early nineties, my father answered the home phone and I watched as the color drained from his face and a sadness washed over him. I later learned that his father, my grandfather, had passed away and from across the kitchen I had seen the moment my father heard the news for the first time.
That was the first time I was confronted with mortality.
I couldn’t help but remember that moment as I read about the passing of Kobe Bryant over the weekend. I have nothing new to add to the multitude of articles being written but he was still a huge influence on my childhood.
When I was 10 years old I’d dribble my favorite basketball on the driveway and pretend I was just like Kobe. I had no fantasies of being a professional athlete but seeing Kobe go straight from high school to the pros made me believe that I could go places, too, if I’d just work hard every single day.
Growing up in a small town in the pre-internet days, it was tricky to find a role model that made me believe I could move away and be successful. Things weren’t as accessible then. Celebrities (and their stories of success) felt more out of reach than they do now and it was hard to relate to their journeys from my lonely driveway in southeast Kansas. But Kobe (and later LeBron James) were different, along with a small handful of other talented athletes, entertainers, writers, and more. For some reason, seeing Kobe and LeBron make the jump to the pros made everything seem possible.
I heard a great quote recently but I have no idea who said it: “There are two types of people in a small town: those who have to leave and those who can’t.” I was always the former. From a young age, I wanted out. I wanted to move to the big city to chase my dreams. Don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against my hometown - I just wanted more.
I found more of what I wanted in my life with Stephanie in Chicago. From traveling worldwide for my tour dates to embracing the diverse culture of one of the biggest cities in the world, I’m so glad I ended up here. But seeing a legend die so young made me wonder: Am I doing enough? Am I working hard enough? Can I do more to leave a positive impact on people? Even in death, Kobe continues to inspire and motivate.
I may not ever be one of the greatest who ever lived. I will never own a private helicopter or a mansion in Calabasas. I won’t win a world championship or become MVP. But I do care about my legacy and how I’m impacting the people around me. Kobe’s death (and that call many years ago) are a couple of the many ways that I’ve been reminded of how fragile life can be.
I don't know the true meaning of life but what I’ve tried to do is find something that I enjoy doing and make the most of it. I’m trying to spend every day doing my endeavors to the best of my ability so I can be proud of my work. And I try to use my talents to connect with other people and create joy in their lives.
There are doctors, scientists, nurses, and many other heroes out there doing far more important work - I understand that. But this is where I’ve ended up and I’m going to pour my entire being into it until I can’t any longer.
I hope that years from now, when someone gets a call about me, that they’ll look back fondly at the ways I relentlessly pursued my goals and it will inspire them to do the same.
Other Thoughts:
Currently Reading: “Talking to Strangers” by Malcolm Gladwell
Another good thing about being off of social media was that I found out the news about Kobe in a healthy fashion. I drove up past Milwaukee for a show over the weekend and opened The New York Times app to see the top stories. It was still shocking, but at least I wasn’t reading people’s conspiracies or TMZ’s clickbait. I was reading the facts that had been assembled and verified.
Catch me at The Magic Penthouse in February and the Chicago Magic Lounge in March!