Playing Better When Life Feels Right

There’s a myth in sports that the only way to grow is through suffering. That if you’re not waking up miserable, sore, and pissed off, then you’re not working hard enough. You hear it everywhere. Embrace the grind. Fall in love with the struggle. Pain is growth. All that nonsense.

I grew up in the 80s watching Rocky montages. Running through snow, punching frozen meat, sprinting up steps all with inspirational music blasting in the background. That was the blueprint. You trained in the dark while your opponent slept. You ate raw eggs and did sit-ups hanging upside down in a barn until you puked. That was how I was raised to think success worked. If you weren’t suffering, you weren’t serious. If you smiled during the process, you probably weren’t doing it right.

But here’s a fun fact nobody tells you. Misery doesn’t make you elite, sometimes it just makes you miserable. The best basketball I’ve ever played wasn’t when I was grinding through hell. It was when I was living in paradise.

Literally.

I was in Australia, playing for the Cairns Taipans. I had just come off a stretch of tough seasons. Tough teams. Tough cities. I’d been broke. I’d been homesick. I’d lived in apartments where the shower shut off at 10pm, where air conditioning didn’t exist, and where nobody even pretended to care who I was unless I dropped 30. I’d played games wondering if my check would clear. I’d spent off days alone, in silence, counting down time. I was surviving. Barely.

And then I got to Cairns.

From the second I landed, it felt different. Warm air. Blue skies. A city that looked like someone photoshopped it. Palm trees lined the roads. The ocean was a short drive away. The fans were supportive and amazing. I didn’t feel like some mercenary. I mattered.

I lived on a resort. That’s not me trying to make it sound better than it was. My apartment was legit on a golf course resort. I had a patio that looked out onto the greens. I’d wake up, sit outside, drink coffee, (while avoiding the seventeen things that could kill me lurking in nature) and just breathe. No rush or panic. No dread of the day ahead. I breathed. And for the first time in a long time, life felt calm.

I had a car, which meant I wasn’t trapped in a bubble waiting for rides. I had independence. I could go to the beach. I could go into town. I could go see things. I could live.

And that living started to bleed into my game.

I wanted to be there. I was loose. I was locked in. My body felt good. I wasn’t dragging from lack of sleep or stress. I was moving better. Seeing the floor better. I wasn’t overthinking every move. I wasn’t tight. I wasn’t angry. I was present. And I was productive as hell.

Off the court was even better. I made memories I’ll hold onto for the rest of my life. One week I snorkeled the Great Barrier Reef on Monday, walked through the Kuranda Rainforest Tuesday, visited a winery in the Outback on Wednesday and had a double double Thursday. I saw more in three days than I’d seen in some entire seasons.

That energy carried over. It showed up in how I interacted with teammates. I had more patience. I had more joy. I cracked more jokes. I lifted guys up instead of snapping when things went sideways. I had perspective. I wasn’t just playing. I was enjoying the process again.

People think happiness is a luxury. Something you’re allowed to have after you succeed. Like you earn it. Like it’s dessert after dinner. But the truth is, happiness isn’t a reward. It’s fuel.

When you’re happy, you play better. That’s not just a feel-good quote. It’s real. Your brain works better. Your body recovers faster. Your instincts are sharper. Your decision-making improves. You communicate more clearly. You learn faster. You show up more consistently.

Because you’re not stuck in survival mode.

And that’s the trap too many players fall into. They get stuck in places that don’t support them. They think toughness means staying miserable. That if you’re not struggling, you’re not doing it right. But it doesn’t have to be that way.

I’ve played in those places. And I got through it. But I never thrived there.

I thrived when I was taken care of. I thrived when I felt seen. I thrived when I had balance. I thrived when I could take a breath, feel the sun on my face, and remember that basketball is supposed to be something I love. Not something I survive.

So if you’re wondering how to unlock that next level in your game, maybe don’t just look at film or your stat line. Look at your life. Are you sleeping? Are you supported? Are you happy?

You can’t fake that and you can’t grind your way out of emptiness.

Your best basketball is waiting for you. But it’s not always at the bottom of another rep. Sometimes, it’s on a balcony in Australia, drinking coffee, watching the sunrise over a golf course, realizing you still love the game.

That’s where I found mine.

Cheers,

Kevin