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Rethinking the Legacy of Kobe Bryant

I was never a fan of Kobe Bryant.

These are the things that happen when you grow up in Chicago and dream of being “Like Mike.” As you grow older, you start defending your favorite players by resisting the lure of others. It’s not that I didn’t respect Kobe or think he was great; he was one of the best to ever step on the hardwood. But, his legacy was about basketball, Michael Jordan was MJ, and that was that.

As I grew older, my MJ love didn’t fade, but my respect for the “Mamba Mentality” intensified. There were so many aspects of Kobe’s mindset that I found compelling and similar to the way I thought, acted, and pushed myself.

Many people have reflected on Kobe: his persona, that welcoming smile, his actions on and off the court, and — ultimately — his legacy.

But, when the world lost Kobe, his daughter, and the 7 others on that helicopter, my mind went to a different place.

The tragic accident cut through me like no other death of a public figure, and I’ve spent the past week trying to figure out why.

That first night, I sat on my couch in tears surrounded by my wife and my two boys.

I was a prisoner of vicarious experiences that I’ll never truly know.

It started by thinking about what it must’ve been like for Kobe in the moments before it all ended. The pain of having to look into his daughter’s eyes. I’m welling up even typing these words. It’s an automatic reaction that ties me to any parent.

As a parent and father, it’s built into your DNA to protect your kids. When my son skins his knee or someone tells him they don’t want to be his friend, my heart sinks. So, my brain can’t begin to comprehend those last moments for the people on the plane, or, putting myself in Kobe’s shoes, the powerlessness of the moment. It breaks me.

I thought of Gigi. That incredibly talented girl, so much like her father, so much life still to live. Children aren’t supposed to die. It happens and is a part of life, but it will never feel OK.

I thought about the 7 others. What it must’ve felt like being on that ride with Kobe, loving life, and creating experiences, only to have everything ripped from them in a moment. They won’t be covered like Kobe, but the pain and tragedy are equal for all of them.

I thought of Kobe’s wife, Vanessa. What it had to be like receiving that news that she lost her husband and daughter…and then needing to share that news with her children. Oh, man. Those kids. I can’t. The thought of a child (or children) losing a parent (or parents) at such a young age is suffocating.

And, then I went through the same process with the others on that flight. Each pain just as deep and painful as the Bryant family.

As I shifted through each lens, the emotions became deeper and deeper. The tears flowed. My head and heart hurt.

I pulled my family closer, hugged my boys, kissed my wife, called my parents (to try and work through conflict we’ve had), texted some friends, and tried to be in the moment.

I wanted to absorb everything my mind was trying to explore.

My first takeaway was that Kobe’s death hit me so hard because it served as a powerful reminder of how little control we actually have in life.

We can do everything right. Be healthy, work hard, and have everything we want — and it can all be taken from us. In a second. With no warning.

Some might process that as a reason to question the purpose of life itself.

I view it the other way. It’s a reminder to live. To love. To live with passion. To give. To try. To fail. To cry. To hurt. To bounce back. And to keep making the most of every day. Because that is the human experience, a wide range of emotions that include highs and lows, good and bad, happy and sad.

Many stoic philosophers believe in the concept of “Amor fati” or love of fate. It’s a reminder that we all die. It’s not a morbid sentiment; it’s a reminder to not sacrifice the gift of life.

And that’s when I started to understand why Kobe’s death hit me so hard.

Because whether you live till 90 or 9, you don’t need to live a long life in order to live a full life.

And that’s what I was having trouble reconciling following Kobe’s passing.

I believe the words that I just wrote about a fulfilling life, but I have trouble accepting that it’s true. Because so much of life feels like survival when it’s not.

It’s not about how long you live, even if we want to live forever. It’s about an awareness that enables you to pour your heart into the things that matter to you. As Kobe once wrote in his poem/farewell, “Dear Basketball,”

I want you to know now
So we both can savor every moment we have left together.
The good and the bad.
We have given each other
All that we have.

The fullness of your life will be determined by what you make of your time, how you live, the way you feel, and the impact you leave on others.

I wasn’t sure if I was going to write anything about Kobe’s death because I didn’t know him or feel qualified to add commentary, but then — two days after the accident — something happened.

I was watching a Kobe video tribute on Instagram and my older son (he’s only 4) was looking over my shoulder. The video was a montage of highlights and people crying and mourning.

The Intern (the nickname of my older son) asked why everyone was so sad.

I told him that someone many people loved had died, and it’s sad because once you’re dead you don’t come back and people miss you.

My son, in pure innocence and love, told me, “Dada, I don’t want you to ever die. I want you to be around forever.”

As I started to cry (yet again), I hugged my son, put him on my lap, and told him I wasn’t going anywhere and I loved him. I’m sure there’s a more appropriate answer, but, it was the only thing my son needed to hear. More accurately, it was the blissful ignorance that my own heart required.

Then, in that moment of the fantasy of eternal father-and-son togetherness, my son brought me back to reality in a way only a child can.

He asked me, “Dada, why do people miss him?”

I can’t tell you why, but that question in that powerful moment caused me to deeply reflect, pause, and — ultimately — share these words with all of you.

Because my answer to my son is my wish for all of you. And, it changes everything I thought about Kobe.

I told my son,

“They miss him because he made people smile. He made people believe in good things and forget bad things. And, he brought people together that probably would never be connected. And that’s the beauty of life.”

As we all go through our days, it’s a great reminder for all of us. I dedicate my life to helping people be healthier, feel better, and control what they can control to live longer.

But, that’s just a small piece of the bigger picture. There are things that everyone can do that are more powerful. Because one of the best things you can do for your health and happiness — and the health and happiness of others — is to bring people together, help them connect, and make them smile.

And, if that’s the legacy that Kobe Bryant leaves behind, consider me his biggest fan.

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