Though I cannot recall a time where I felt anonymous, there are a few key occasions where I was anonymous by choice. After becoming really interested in basketball, to even be semi-competitive, I knew I had to practice. To improve my skills I would wake up early on the weekend and shoot around for a few hours before playing with and against many different people allowing me to learn and act immediately. Throughout my four years of playing, I got to know a guy weā€™ll call Q.

Q spends most of his free time at the park playing basketball or teaching younger kids how to play. Everyone he plays with knows his name and he theirs, even making nicknames up for them, everyone but me. Somehow over four-plus years, Q stills doesn’t know my name. Funny enough, this isn’t done on purpose, it may just be a reflection of my demeanor. When playing basketball I cut the small talk and watch every motion, every decision, and even every made or missed basket on court. This allows me to focus on the game, improving just by watching.

 To refrain from confusing them, others have taken it upon themselves to give me a few nicknames based on my attire. They range from ā€œMarineā€ because I wore a marine shirt, to ā€œGlassā€ because of my sports goggles to even ā€œGreyā€ for (you guessed it), me wearing grey. As the nicknames began to pile on, I realized few knew my name. Though it didn’t bother me, I call them friends but these were strangers, people I have met that happened to share a common interest. The anonymity didn’t bother me, I came to play, get a workout, then leave, and I did that. My name would neither help nor hinder the process, I  could be a glasses-wearing, grey-suited marine, and Iā€™ll still play as diligently as ever.