2025: A Year of Becoming

Embracing the Journey

2025 was a remarkable year for me.

Not because everything went perfectly.

Not because life slowed down.

But because I finally did.

It was a year where I stopped rushing through moments just to get to the next one. A year where I stopped asking, “Why is this happening to me?” and started asking, “What is this preparing me for?”

It was a year of growth.

A year of learning about myself.

A year of growing alongside my sons.

A year of becoming more intentional with how I move, how I speak, and how I decide.

I wouldn’t say I became a new person.

I became more rooted.

More secure in who I am.

More honest about who I’m still becoming.

More aware that none of this happens without God.

The Moments You Don’t See

There were parts of 2025 that never made it online.

Quiet moments.

Late nights.

Sitting alone with my thoughts, asking myself hard questions without an audience.

These were moments where I had to be honest about my fears, my doubts, and my responsibilities. Not in a dramatic way—but in a real one. Growth doesn’t always announce itself. Sometimes it just asks you to sit still long enough to hear what’s really being said.

Those moments shaped me more than anything visible ever could.

Fatherhood: Where Time Slows Down

I have two sons.

One is my son by blood.

One is my God’s son.

And there are no bad days with either of them.

Some of my clearest memories from 2025 didn’t come from basketball or business—they came from presence. Just being with them.

I took both of them to Tennessee, staying in cabins, slowing life down, letting nature breathe on us. I took both of them to Hawaii—watching their faces light up, watching them experience the world, watching them just be kids.

Those moments stay with me.

Not because they were extravagant, but because they were pure.

No pressure.

No expectations.

Just love.

I don’t need my sons to remember everything I say. I need them to remember how I lived. How I showed up. How I handled pressure. How I treated people when nobody was watching.

If they learn anything from me, I hope it’s this: consistency matters more than perfection.

Faith: Learning to Listen

My relationship with God deepened in a real way this year.

I still ask Him for signs. I still ask, “Should I do this?” or “Should I go that way?” Sometimes I hear Him clearly. Sometimes I don’t.

But when I do hear Him—I follow.

Because what’s the point of asking God for direction if you’re not ready to move when He answers?

2025 taught me that silence from God isn’t absence—it’s trust. Sometimes He doesn’t give you a sign. He gives you a choice. And faith is choosing to trust Him even when clarity doesn’t come immediately.

Basketball: Faith, Patience, and Perspective

My relationship with basketball has never been simple.

It hasn’t been linear.

It hasn’t been guaranteed.

But it has always been rooted in faith.

There were crossroads moments—times when deals didn’t come right away, times when it took weeks or months to see what was next. Moments where I had to ask myself real questions.

How long do I want to do this?

What am I still chasing?

What does life after basketball look like?

And every time, I reminded myself: when I walk away from this game, I want to be satisfied. Not wondering what if. Not wishing I gave more.

My career is stamped.

The milestones.

The places I’ve played.

The moments I’ve lived.

Some nights I’m a scorer.

Some nights I’m a passer.

Some nights I’m a defender.

Whatever the role is—I accept it.

That’s maturity.

Getting older doesn’t mean getting weaker. It means getting wiser—if you stay locked in.

The Cost of Discipline

Discipline showed me its price in 2025.

It costs comfort.

It costs shortcuts.

It costs instant gratification.

It asks you to choose the long road when the short one looks easier. To say no when saying yes would feel good in the moment.

I learned that discipline isn’t punishment.

It’s protection.

Writing: Where My Voice Found a Home

Writing has always been there for me.

I used to write my days down just to clear my mind. Journaling. Getting things off my chest. I’ve always been creative in that way.

One day, I was sitting in my garage and it hit me.

I already write. Why not share it?

Maybe I could inspire someone. Maybe I could help someone. Maybe my words could reach people in ways I couldn’t physically be there for.

And when people started reading my stories and reaching out, I realized something powerful—I was touching people.

These aren’t ghostwritten stories.

These are my words.

My experiences.

My reflections.

Some stories are deep.

Some are light.

Some are just fun.

Because everything doesn’t have to be heavy. Life isn’t meant to be lived seriously all the time. You grow, you learn—but you also laugh and enjoy the moment.

From a Boy to a Man

Releasing From a Boy to a Man wasn’t about judging my past.

It was about owning my growth.

If I could talk to my younger self, I wouldn’t criticize him. I’d thank him. For surviving. For believing. For not quitting when quitting made sense.

I’d tell him: You’re going to grow into yourself. Just stay patient.

Redefining Success

Success doesn’t look the same to me anymore.

It looks like peace.

It looks like presence.

It looks like alignment.

It looks like sleeping well at night knowing I moved right.

I don’t even call them goals anymore. This is bigger than that. This is about creation. About becoming. About building something that never really ends.

Life After Basketball

I don’t fear life after basketball.

I respect it.

Because the same discipline that built my career will build whatever comes next.

Community, Legacy, and Gratitude

Giving back brings me the most joy.

Camps. Backpacks. Haircuts. Conversations. Being someone kids can talk to—not just about basketball, but about life.

If I didn’t see it growing up, I’ll create it now.

I think often about my Uncle Lee.

He used to tell me all the time, “Get in your Bible.”

Not as a lecture. Not as pressure. Just as guidance. A reminder. A seed.

Back then, I heard him—but I didn’t always listen the way I should have. I was moving fast. Chasing things. Learning the hard way. And now, in 2025, I find myself wishing I could sit down with him and really talk. Not just about faith, but about understanding it. About how much more there is to learn.

I wish he could see me now—not because I have it all figured out, but because I’m actually doing the work. I’m showing up. I’m slowing down. I’m listening. I’m opening my Bible not out of obligation, but out of hunger. Out of a real desire to grow closer to God and understand what He’s asking of me in this season.

I know Uncle Lee would be proud of that.

Not loud proud—quiet proud.

The kind where he’d nod his head and say, “That’s it. Keep going, Ham.”

And then there’s my grandfather, Eugene.

I think about him often. I imagine him watching from above, head held high. Not because of accolades or titles—but because of who I’m becoming. Because of the man I’m choosing to be. Because I’m carrying myself with intention and respect.

If he were here, I already know—he’d be my personal chef. Cooking, laughing, making sure I was eating right, reminding me that taking care of myself matters just as much as taking care of everything else.

I carry both of them with me.

In my decisions.

In my faith.

In my patience.

In how I show up for others.

Legacy isn’t just about what you leave behind—it’s about what you live out while you’re still here.

And in 2025, I became more aware of that than ever before.

The Truth About 2025

2025 wasn’t the year I arrived.

It was the year I understood.

Understood sacrifice.

Understood patience.

Understood faith.

Understood purpose.

I’m evolving.

I’m growing.

I’m becoming more intentional every day.

And this is only the beginning.

In this journey, I’ve learned that every moment counts. Whether it’s on the court or in life, I’m here to embrace it all. I’m excited for what’s next. Let’s keep pushing forward together, one step at a time.

Join me on this journey!