You Have a Job. Do It.

The noise of my body hitting the ground muffled any snap or crack that my broken arm might have made. But yikes did it hurt. A mild fracture to the radial neck, the doctor told me. I’ll take mild. We like mild.

I went for a fastbreak layup. I imagined myself soaring over the defender. I saw the ball rolling off my fingertips and off the glass backboard with a gentle tap before swishing through the net. I pictured myself running back to the other end of the court without a smile – just an everyday occurrence for me. Sadly, delusions can only take you so far. 

The defender stepped forward while I was in the air. It’s times like those that I wish I were a taller, bigger, man. But I was cursed with averageness. My momentum brought me down on my back – or it would have, if I hadn’t stuck my forearm out. It stopped my fall, alright. The pain felt like the worst shot to the funny bone I’ve ever had. Coach used to say, “sacrifice your body for the team.” I bet he’d be proud of me. I only went to the hospital when I realized I couldn’t rotate the palm of my hand up or down.

I have a passion for basketball, although I’m afraid I’ve never been great at it. But, like in writing, I work to get better. Recently, I’ve been focused on one-on-one moves to get to the rim, playing physical, and fighting through contact. Sometimes you get what you ask for. I imagine somewhere a monkey paw curled its finger. I suppose I have two more wishes left. I don’t want to use them anymore.

The creative spirit speaks to you or it doesn’t. No matter the case, follow how you feel. 

Let me explain:

After I returned from the hospital, I went on a regime of painkillers. My hand swelled up and resembled a sausage more than an appendage. Of course, this put a damper on my writing. You see, I didn’t have school the next week. For over a year I had planned on using that week to be seriously productive. We are talking about Leonardo da Vinci levels of creative production. I was going to be prolific. And now I found myself unable to type on my computer, much less have the clarity of mind to write. 

I forged ahead. I sat in a shell of blankets with my steaming coffee growing cold next to me. I’m sure I looked like a senile old man. I sat. And I sat. The screen tinged my downcast face in a shade of blue. My broken arm, wrapped in ace bandages and a cast, – useless.

But I didn’t have an excuse, afterall, voice-to-text exists for a reason. There I sat uncomfortably in my chair vocalizing my writing. It didn’t go well. I questioned everything I said. Nothing seemed creative. Nothing seemed to click. Worse still, nothing got me excited. Voice-to-text just isn’t for me. Not now, at least.

I struggled over the next several days to be productive. I couldn’t work. I couldn’t think. Writer’s block. Everything I created was awful. I questioned everything, even my motivation. 

A doctor’s appointment that day changed my life. 

They cut open my cast in the exam room. I’d never felt so vulnerable with my little t-rex arm, at least that’s how I imagined it. It probably didn’t help my body dysmorphia that I lifted weights with my usable arm while the other lingered like a vestigial limb – one side buff, the other weak and broken. 

The doctor had me move my arm this way and that. He told me I was progressing nicely and that I didn’t need surgery, or even another cast. I sighed in relief. But then I knew I had to ask the question. 

I’d been injured playing basketball before. Beyond the little fingernail scrapes and bruises, I had just gotten back from a rib injury. Even now, my big toe is black from bruising. Basketball is a contact sport and I’m no spring chicken anymore. I took a deep breath and asked him the question I’d been so worried to ask. It’d been churning in my mind for a week, “should I quit basketball if I keep getting injured?”

He looked me square in the eyes. 

“I’d rather you play basketball than sit on the couch.”

Moral of the story: doing something you’re passionate about is better than doing nothing at all.

I needed those words more than he knew.

Since that doctor’s visit, my arm has progressed to the point where I can finally write. I’ve worked through my writer’s block and am now typing away every morning as normal. Put simply, the joy is back. 

I learned another valuable lesson during my broken-arm experience, be mindful of your body and soul, it will tell you what to do. When you feel good about something, when you’re excited for it, that means it's good for you. When you look back on yesterday and say that you used your time valuably, that’s even better. Keep doing it. It’s your life, do what brings you joy and meaning.

Looking back, I realized that I should have listened to myself more when I first injured my arm. Even if I had planned to write that week, I should have listened to my body and recognized that writing was no longer my job that week – resting up had become my occupation. Listen to yourself and you will know what to do.

So I broke my arm. So what? You still won’t find me on the couch, there are too many things in this world that I need to do.