Something So Pure

Yesterday I had the good fortune of being near a basket and a ball. When I was growing up, I used to shoot baskets in my driveway or in a gym for hours and hours.  In the summer, I never had a tan I was in the gym so much.  Even to this day, my leg hair stops at where my ankles are because I taped them so much I ripped the hair follicles out.

There is something about feeling the ball roll off your middle finger, making a gooseneck with your arm and wrist and getting the feedback of the twine on the net barely moving as the ball sweeps through.

I don’t have my legs anymore.  I can’t move at all.  I tried to do some dribbling drills.  I used to be able to handle the ball pretty well.  When I was in fifth grade, a coach told us right-hand players were easy to defend because they couldn’t go left.  Growing up, I always worked on my left hand because of that.  Now, my left hand isn’t what it used to be…alas you grow old.

I still love basketball courts. The lines on the court.  The way they are parallel and round.  The block. Baseline to baseline and between the rings.  I still feel totally comfortable in a gym.

Some people find that pureness in a bike ride, or fishing.  I believe you need to do something physical to find it.

I can still drill jump shots and free throws.  There is a rhythm to it like a great piece of jazz.  That perfect drum solo. The guitar lick that just won’t stop and is so pleasing all you can do is smile.  I can get my brain to get into the moment and feel the flow.  It is a good feeling.

So pure.