Be Creative

I was twenty-three when my world ended.

A basketball injury - sudden, final, devastating. In one moment, everything I had built my identity

around was gone. The courts that had been my sanctuary, the dream that had driven me through

countless hours of practice, the f

uture I had mapped out so caref

ully - all of it disappeared with the

snap of damaged tissue and bone.

Depression settled over me like a heav

y blanket. I felt lost, purposeless, like I was drifting through days

that all looked the same. Who was I without basketball? What was I supposed to do now?

In that dark place, something unexpected happened. Words started coming.

Not profound words. Not beautif

ul words. Just... words. Raw, messy expressions of everything I

couldn't say out loud. The pain, the conf

usion, the grief for the life I thought I was supposed to live. I

wrote them down because I didn't know what else to do with them.

Those words became songs.