It all started with a basketball. Not a fancy leather one or anything—just a faded Wilson my friend Camden kept in the trunk of his car, alongside a random assortment of gym bags, fast food wrappers, and exactly one unmatched sock. Camden and I met as kids on the South Side, two Black boys constantly being told to "bounce back" even before we knew what life was going to throw at us. He was the guy who always had something going—pickup games, poetry slams, gospel choir rehearsals—forcing me to get out of my “too-cool-for-everything” zone. But I think I realized just how much he’d shaped my life the day we accidentally gave a middle school gym lesson on vulnerability. Yeah, it’s a story. Let me break it down.

The Rule of “Show Up Anyway”

Camden wasn’t the type to take excuses. My mom might call him “persistent”—I just called it annoying at the time. I was 15 and thought the world should come to me on its knees with opportunities. Camden was two years older, all energy and oversized optimism. Where I looked for reasons to stay in my comfort zone, he found reasons to push me out of it.

“C’mon, D, they need you for the team!” he’d say, gesturing wildly with that Wilson basketball.

Translation: His Saturday league was short a player, and he’d decided, completely unilaterally, that I was their savior. Never mind that I had the jump shot accuracy of a potato chip.

But Camden didn’t care. He believed in people beyond their excuses—and somehow, he made you believe in yourself for 90 minutes of scrappy, sweaty magic. I may have tripped over my own shoes that first time, but I showed up. And, as it turns out, showing up was the secret.

Giving Confidence, One Court at a Time

Fast forward a few years: Camden’s in college, I’m trying to navigate senior year of high school, and the guy’s still recruiting me for life. One Sunday, he drags me down to a community center on the corner of 63rd and Cottage Grove, where he’s coaching a bunch of 12- and 13-year-olds. I pull up thinking I’ll just hang out in the back with my headphones on, but before I know it, he’s tossing me the Wilson ball.

“Run a drill!” he says, grinning like this is a sitcom.

A drill? With tweens? Absolutely not. But they’re watching, and somehow, Camden’s Jedi mind trick works again. I don’t know where it came from—maybe those endless Saturday leagues—but I end up giving them a half-decent breakdown of a layup.

Afterward, one of the kids sidles up to me. “I’m not good at stuff like this,” he mumbles.

And in that moment, I swear I felt Camden’s unrelenting energy transfer through me, like something out of a Marvel origin story. “Good?” I say. “Who said you gotta be good? You gotta just keep showing up, man. Only rule.”

Lessons in Embracing Messy Humanity

The thing about Camden wasn’t just that he made you believe in yourself—it was how he forced you to accept the messiness that came with growth. He wasn’t one of those people who had it all figured out, but he didn’t let that stop him from diving in, no life jacket required.

Take relationships. Camden had this on-and-off thing with a girl named Keisha that basically played out like its own Netflix drama. But every time I teased him about their endless breakup-to-makeup cycle, he hit me with this wisdom:

“Look, man, love’s like jazz improv—you hit some wrong notes, but you can’t be scared to riff. Nobody’s perfect, and if you wait for perfect, you’ll live on pause forever.”

I’ve never been able to look at love—or jazz—the same since.

Turning Fear into Bold First Steps

One time, I asked Camden how he got to be so fearless about starting things, whether it was a new project, a relationship, or literally a group text for an impromptu movie night. His response stuck with me: “I just assume I’m already not cool enough for whatever it is. Once you own that, there’s nothing to lose.”

Somewhere, buried in what Camden admitted as self-deprecating humor, was pure genius. I started applying it in my own life—not just on the basketball court or in creative workshops but in real conversations. You know the ones I’m talking about: those heart-to-hearts that start with, “I need to be honest…” or “Hey, I screwed up….” Camden taught me that every scary moment I avoided was just an opportunity stagnating in the shadows.

The Ripples of One Friend’s Impact

Here’s the thing about Camden: He didn’t just change my life—he gave me the tools to rewrite it anytime I needed to. That’s the legacy of a good friend. They plant seeds in you without even trying: resilience here, confidence there, that one line that pops into your head when you’re standing in line for coffee and wondering if you have the nerve to flirt with a stranger.

We don’t see each other as much these days—life with kids, careers, and obligations will do that—but every time I lace up my sneakers and play a half-hearted game of ball with the neighborhood kids, I think of him. Every time I throw myself into the deep end of something new, not sure if I’m going to sink or swim, I hear his voice: “D, ain’t no such thing as ready. Go do it anyway.”

Empowered by Connection

Camden wasn’t perfect, but that’s exactly why he made such an impact. He wasn’t striving to be Superman—just the best, most fearless version of himself he knew how to be at the time. And in his journey to be bold, he taught me how to believe in my own messy, nonlinear potential.

So, if you’ve got a Camden in your life today, hold them close—maybe even send them this article. If you don’t, look around for someone who makes you want to show up, riff, and just get out there. We all need a friend who encourages us to take the shot, even when the odds aren’t in our favor. And hey, if you can’t find someone like that? Be that person for someone else. Trust me, it’ll change your life too.