For My Brother

My mom often claims that nobody loves their brother more than I do. And while there's no metric to prove that, here’s what I do know: When I was little, whenever I was physically between the four walls of a math class, I was mentally literally anywhere else¹ – Hogwarts, the NBA Finals, Tatooine, you name it. But see, when I would daydream myself into these worlds, I would always imagine bringing my brother. If I was floating off into the Star Wars universe, then I would imagine him as a Jedi. Or if I was playing in the World Cup, then I would picture assisting him for the game-winning goal. See, what I subconsciously already knew as a little boy is that, even in my daydreams, it wouldn’t matter to me what I achieved or how far I went, if my big brother wasn't there with me. Now that’s not to say that I never competed against my brother. My parents often tell the story that, in a backyard in Adelaide, I would cry every time I lost a football game against him. But while I desperately wanted to beat him, the reality of being a little brother is that, whether you know it or not, you’re always secretly hoping your older brother stays better than you. There’s something nice about being second. And that something nice is your belief and adoration for the person who is first. And so, my ideal outcome in life has never been to beat everyone in the world. Rather, it’s always been to beat everyone in the world, except my brother. <a href="https://medium.com/no-wisdom-here/for-my-brother-e3354c05966b">Read More</a>