As we sat together in the car, I stared into her face and recognized the solemn look that she wore when she was going to break “bad” news to me. My mom loved to do this: pretend to be sad and tell me that something didn’t work out, then crack up and tell me she was kidding. Mom humor, I suppose. But this time, there was no cracking up.  “No, Jack, I wish I was kidding. You didn’t make it. I’m so sorry.” There was no laughter; this was no joke. And my world came apart.

Since 6th grade, when it’s not about school, it’s about basketball. Ask me something about the history of the NBA or the fundamentals of the game, and I probably know it. My love of the game developed over time. My curiosity piqued after hearing my friends talk about basketball, so I started reading about basketball and looking at stats. Soon I picked up a ball. For hours a day, there would be nothing but the sound of the rubber ball bouncing against our concrete driveway with its signature ringing thump. My friends and I would go to the town courts and practice our game for hours, and I was thrilled that I wasn’t half-bad. Over time, I kept improving.  Being a tall, Asian-looking kid, my friends even gave me the moniker “Yao” after the legendary Yao Ming.

With my confidence rising by the day, I decided to try out for the local YMCA team. Upon learning this, my mom cocked her eyebrow and asked if I was sure. “You’ve never taken a clinic or lesson,” she warned. “I’m not sure you’ve been playing long enough.” Wait...what? I wasn’t used to this. Up to that point, I had sailed through school with few problems or issues.  I’d always been able to put in a modicum of effort and achieve what I wanted. Figuring that my mom knows nothing about basketball, I ignored her concern and signed up.

On the day of the tryout, I walked in nervous but confident. I walked out even more confident. I knew I had made it. The coach seemed impressed. Fast forward a week later to the soul-crushing car ride with my mom. I hadn’t made it. I felt a couple of tears roll down my cheeks before I was able to superficially rein myself in. “You probably just need more experience,” my mom said. “Just practice more. This is a tough team.” Not wanting to hear anything about basketball, I sat in stony silence, pulling my hood over my head and staring blankly ahead.

I had no idea how to deal with these emotions… the sadness, anger, and confusion of being rejected. It felt like a dark, damp cloud hanging over me. My confidence was shattered. I dealt with it by rejecting basketball altogether, figuring that if I dropped it, these feelings would pass. But before long, I found myself watching basketball videos. Then games. I started looking at stats again. I realized basketball wasn’t over for me.

With a newfound sense of determination, I practiced harder. And harder. I had missed that swish of the ball passing through net. But I realised that practicing alone in the driveway was like a road to nowhere. I needed a goal, and I knew I had to try out for something again. I nervously asked my mom to sign me up for the town travel basketball team tryout. On the day of the tryout, I waited outside in the frigid winter, putting up shots. And despite my flashbacks to the YMCA tryout, I put my head down when my name was called and headed in.  

Two weeks later, I was practicing with the travel team. I’d made it. But it’s tough. I’m the new kid with the least experience. I work hard… harder than most. I leave every practice red-cheeked and dripping with sweat. And to my surprise, come the first game, I start. The feeling of nervous, adrenaline-spiked exhilaration coursing through my body is something I will never forget. It wasn’t my best game, but it was my most meaningful. The culmination of so much work was hardly perfect, but so rewarding nonetheless.

I am still playing basketball. I realise will never have the perfect shot or the hardest defense. But this is OK. Something you love is worth the work, even without a “perfect” outcome. I’ve learned that sometimes I’ll put in much effort for something and I won’t achieve it. And this is also OK. With this lens, I know that achievements are much more meaningful when they arise from failure. This is tough to remember when you’re in the trenches of  hardship, but I try to apply this to every aspect of my life. My love of the game makes the tough moments worth it. But I would be lying if I said it wasn’t nice sometimes just to sit, watch the NBA on TV, and dream. Because no matter what the obstacle, it never hurts to dream.