For the love and joy of it
The story of the basketball and reclaiming lost childhood joys
Dear Enchantable ones,
In
´s book Free to Learn1, which is about self-directed education and the human instinct to learn through play, he asks a question:What is something that, as a child, you loved to do, but you stopped doing because school and/or competitiveness took the life and joy out of it?2
I was reading this book as a part of my dissertation research circa 2020-22. When I read the question, the answer came to me immediately:
Basketball.
My dad was a basketball star, and my brother and I heard tales of championships throughout our childhood. He played college ball at Williams College in Vermont. He loved the game and passed on that love to us. We had a hoop in the driveway, and I have so many fond memories of shooting hoops with my brother and dad and neighbors and friends, spending hours learning to dribble through my legs, playing HORSE and 1-on-1s, seeing how far back we could make it. Dribbling, dribbling, dribbling. Countless days spent shooting, dribbling, playing until the sun went down.
I played on a team in middle school, but I remember it still feeling fun at that point. There wasn’t a lot of pressure, and I still enjoyed it.
Then in 9th grade, it turned ugly, and my relationship to the game changed. It got very competitive, and there were those good enough to play and those who were not. The high school assistant coach was downright abusive, calling girls fat and lazy, yelling at people constantly, belittling, humiliating. Clearly this is what she thought she was supposed to do to motivate people, and clearly she had issues that she was passing onto young impressionable girls and should never have been in that position. For me (and I’m sure many others), it did quite the opposite of motivate me. It sucked the joy out of the game I loved, and at the end of that season, I quit, and never played again. Even though we had a hoop in the driveway, I dont’t remember playing much at home after that. It was like the whole game was ruined for me. The whole love.
So many people share a version of this story, often related to a sport or art (often both) - of a teacher or coach or school ruining our love of something that brought us joy.
What is the thing for you, that you loved as a child, that somewhere along the way, got ruined for you? By adults, by schooling, by competition, by capitalism?
In asking the question, Peter Gray reminds us: this love is always there. It never dies. Even 30 years later, you can find it again.
This happened for me, that summer I read the book. Towards the end of my dissertation writing, I went out and got a basketball and kept it in my car. At the end of writing sessions, before I had to relieve my babysitter, I would stop at a park for a few minutes to dribble and shoot hoops. It was therapeutic. It was healing. I remembered that dribbling is meditative, and I loved the repetitive movement, the texture of the ball on the tips of my fingers. I hadn’t dribbled in decades, but I was amazed by how the muscle memory remained, and all those hours spent in the driveway came right back to me. Basketball was etched in my body. It touched the teenager who had been belittled and shamed by this toxic coach, and said, “You can do this just for fun, just because you love it.” The joy had been squashed by hadn’t been completely stolen. It was still there, after all these years.
I shared this story with my Facilitation and Training for Peacebuilders class this past week. I told them that I hadn’t packed a basketball in my move to Costa Rica and that I should probably buy one. We were talking about competition, and whether competition can be a healthy thing or whether it always has a harmful side to it (the jury is out; opinions in the class differed wildly, and I invite you to reflect on where you fall on the spectrum of your relationship to competition). We talk a lot in our classes (whatever the subject) about healing from modernity and systems of domination, and competition is one facet of this (hence the debate about whether we can heal our relationship to it).
It’s never too late to remember what you loved and bring it back.
It’s never too late to rekindle a lost joy.
It’s never too late to do something just for the sheer pleasure of it, not to be the best or to make money from it.
It’s never too late to reclaim the love and joy you have for something that schooling or capitalism stole.
On the last day of class, they gifted me with a basketball and a hoop made out of plant pots that they signed. They got a small one so that I could play with Daphne, and maybe spread that love of the game to her.
I felt so seen and so appreciated. It was one of the most thoughtful and meaningful gifts I’ve ever received.
This was how my semester ended, and it captures the mood I feel as I descend into the period of rest and slowing down. Seen, appreciated, grateful.
How it started: dengue. How it ended: laryngitis (but my voice held out, and I think it’s making a slow recovery back).
The semester was so full, but so full of good stuff. It felt free of nonsense and full of opportunities to do what I love. I got to create two new classes from scratch - a TON of work but a complete labor of love and bringing them to life was a dream. I got to share with many outside groups. The accreditation process, while intense, was affirming and validating, my main takeaway is to write more and to better get the story out there of what we are trying to do here.
Which starts to slide into 2025 goals and dreams, but I am not ready to go there yet.
First, rest. First, dwelling in the gifts of this time, the sense of accomplishment and fulfillment on so many levels.
On that last day of teaching for the semester, we went to the forest altar to give thanks. In class, we thanked the many teachers we had studied with, the authors we had read, our wide learning community. Upon returning home from campus, I was gifted with a rainbow.
As an extension of this gratitude, I will be hosting an end-of-year reflection and dreaming session (Making December Magic!) ahead of the solstice on December 18th at 6pm Costa Rica time. Check your time zones. Free and open to all Enchantable subscribers. Mark your calendar and I will send out a Zoom link in my next installment!
Sending this energy to you, dear readers, and appreciation for you being here to receive these words and take them to heart.
With immense love and care,
Steph3
I love this book and use it a lot in classes I teach. I highly recommend it!
Paraphrase of the question as I remember it, as the book is currently in my office. I can find the exact page number later!
I’ve written about it before, but I really love being called Steph. The people who have known me the longest call me Steph. I dabble with whether I want to just claim that or if I want to reserve it for those who love and know me best, because there is something nice about that, too. But I really, really love being called Steph. Like Steph Curry :)