It was never just about talent. It was about showing up with purpose, day after day.
When I was seven, my dad signed up my twin brother and me for basketball.
helpingWe were small, clumsy kids with shoes too big for our feet and no clue what we were doing. Back then there were no rules for us, no strategies. We didn’t even know how to dribble or shoot the ball.
Games were more like a recess activity than a sport - imagine, dozens of kids running chaotically across a huge court, chasing the ball like a flock of birds. We’d play for an hour, and the score would be something like 3-2.
helpingAt that age, I wasn’t particularly drawn to basketball. Like most kids of my generation I preferred football. After school, my classmates would kick a ball around outside.
But instead of joining them, my brother and I would head into the Moscow subway, riding for nearly an hour to reach a dusty gym and a game we didn’t yet understand. But then, something began to shift. Maybe it took a year, maybe two, but eventually things started to click.
We had a coach, one of the best I’ve ever had, who, even at that young age, taught us lessons that went far beyond the game itself. He passed away far too soon, but the values he instilled stayed with me.
helpingHis message was clear and straightforward: if you want to win, you have to work harder than everyone else. Hard work wasn’t something extra - it was the minimum requirement. And if you wanted to go further, to lead, to stand out, to truly excel, you had to go beyond that. You had to be willing to sacrifice.
There was something both harsh and beautiful in that logic. The ones who arrived first and left last, who stayed for extra drills, who pushed themselves even when no one was watching, those were the ones who made it.
helpingWe were still just kids, but he treated us with the same discipline and seriousness you’d expect in professionals. It was never just about talent.
helpingIt was about showing up with purpose, day after day. And if you were going to be there, if you were going to put in the time, then why not give it everything? Why settle for anything less than your best?
Over time, basketball turned into much more than a sport. It became a school of life.
helpingBy the time I reached my late teens, it wasn’t just something I did. It was a part of my identity.
helpingI became captain of the national team. I was named the best player in Russia. Basketball took me all the way to the United States. I dreamed of the NBA.
And all along the way, the game kept giving. It opened doors, brought me unforgettable friendships, demanded discipline, and gave me a framework to understand what it means to grow and succeed.
helpingEventually, though, things began to change. I was around 20 when a new passion started to take hold: tech, entrepreneurship, building something of my own. Slowly, I began stepping away from the court, not because I stopped loving the game, but because I felt it was time to pursue a different path.
I let go of basketball, but not of what it taught me. Those lessons stayed, deeply rooted, like a second instinct that guides me every time I face a challenge. Discipline. Sacrifice.
helpingBeing the first to show up and the last to leave. Even now, whenever I start something new, I still ask myself the same question: why not give it everything?
helpingSometimes, I walk through a hotel lobby, and there's an NBA game playing on the screen. I pause, thinking I’ll just watch for a moment. But then five minutes becomes an hour. The game ends, and I’m still there, lost in the rhythm, remembering that kid in a Moscow gym, chasing something bigger than himself.
helpingBasketball was never just a sport to me. It was my first real teacher. And though I may not play anymore, its voice still echoes in how I live, how I work, and how I strive to be.
