(Photo courtesy of Yonas Bekele)

The day started early—5:00 AM early. When I arrived at the practice facility in El Segundo, the parking lot was empty, save for a few cars. I was there to meet Kobe Bryant, a man who needed no introduction. Even in retirement, his legendary work ethic hadn’t waned. The sun wasn’t even up, but I could already see the dim glow of gym lights coming through the windows. As I stepped inside, I caught a glimpse of him—a lone figure moving with precision and focus, a ghost on the hardwood.

He waved me over without breaking his rhythm, eyes intense, sweat already soaking through his shirt. As a wisdom coach, I’ve worked with top athletes around the world, but something about being in Kobe’s presence felt different—electric, almost intimidating. I took a deep breath, reminding myself that this wasn’t just about observing; it was a chance to understand and, perhaps, contribute to one of the sharpest minds in sports.

“Glad you made it,” he said, flashing a quick smile as he drained a three-pointer.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world, Kobe,” I replied.

The plan was to spend the day talking about mindset, resilience, and how he could channel his intensity into his next chapter in life. But I quickly realized this wasn’t going to be a one-sided lesson. Kobe was always both the student and the teacher, and today, we would learn from each other.

Morning: The Discipline of Preparation

By 5:30 AM, he had already completed his shooting drills and was moving on to footwork, slicing through cones as if it were a playoff game. As I watched, it struck me that this wasn’t just a routine; it was a ritual. Everything he did had a purpose. Each step, every pivot, was calculated, deliberate. It was a masterclass in discipline.

“Why are you still doing these drills?” I asked, genuinely curious. “You’ve perfected these moves a thousand times.”

He stopped, holding the ball at his side, and looked at me. “Repetition isn’t just about practice,” he said. “It’s about conviction. Each time I do this, I’m not just working on my game—I’m telling myself who I am. This is me, right here, in this moment. I’m not preparing to play basketball. I’m preparing to be Kobe Bryant.” Golfer Jack Nicklaus had shared with me the same, like Bryant and few others, Nicklaus would do what others of great talent were unwilling to do. Thus, he felt he had a clear edge on his competition and not only genuinely believed, but truly felt entitled to win.

Bryant’s words hit me like a freight train. It wasn’t just about skill—it was about identity. For Kobe, every drill was a reaffirmation of his own story. And that’s when I realized the first lesson of the day: Discipline isn’t just about doing; it’s about believing. You don’t train just to get better; you train to tell yourself who you are.

When he finished, I decided to introduce an exercise of my own. “Let’s switch things up,” I suggested. “I want to see how adaptable you are. We’ll do the same drills, but I’m going to throw in a random distraction every 20 seconds. Something unpredictable—a shout, a whistle, a sudden noise.”

“Bring it on,” he grinned.

As he moved through the drills, I tried everything to throw him off—clapping, shouting nonsense, even flashing the lights. But no matter what I did, his concentration never wavered. It was almost superhuman. He completed the entire set flawlessly, then jogged over, barely winded.

“What else you got?” he teased.

I laughed. “You’re a machine, Kobe. But tell me, what were you thinking about during that?”

He looked at me, serious again. “Nothing,” he said. “When I’m focused, there’s no room for anything else. The noise, the distractions—they don’t matter because I’m too busy being in the moment. That’s where you win.”

And just like that, I learned Lesson Two: True focus isn’t about shutting things out; it’s about being so engaged in what you’re doing that there’s no space left for anything else.

Midday: The Power of Emotional Intelligence

After a brief cooldown, we sat down in the film room, where Kobe liked to analyze footage—not just of his own games, but of opponents, classic matchups, and even other sports. He had pulled up a clip of Lionel Messi slicing through defenders in a World Cup match.

“What do you see?” he asked.

I was a little taken aback. I wasn’t an expert on soccer, but I gave it a shot. “Precision, speed, confidence?”

He shook his head. “Emotion. Messi’s not just moving fast—he’s feeling every defender’s energy, sensing where the gaps are, responding in real-time. It’s not just skill; it’s empathy on the field. You feel your opponent. That’s what separates good players from great ones.”

That’s when I realized: Kobe’s brilliance wasn’t just about physicality or skill—it was about emotional intelligence. He didn’t just overpower opponents; he out-thought and out-felt them. He read people’s intentions like a chess master, always three steps ahead, always adapting.

Inspired, I decided to flip the script. “Let’s take a break from sports,” I said. “I want to run a scenario by you. Imagine you’re negotiating a deal—not on the court, but in business. Someone across the table is being aggressive, throwing insults, trying to get you riled up. How do you respond?”

Kobe leaned back, his eyes narrowing. “You don’t respond with anger,” he said slowly. “You respond with curiosity. You ask, ‘Why is he pushing like this? What’s his angle?’ You can’t let emotions dictate your moves. Stay cool, understand his motivation, and then use it against him.”

He paused, looking thoughtful. “It’s like defense on the court. The guy might be faster or stronger, but if you understand his emotions—his triggers, his weaknesses—you own him.”

Lesson Three: Emotional mastery means staying curious, not reactive. Whether on the court or in life, understanding the emotions behind someone’s actions gives you leverage that brute strength never will.

Afternoon: Finding Joy in the Grind

By the time we finished reviewing the film, it was early afternoon. I expected Kobe to take a break, maybe grab lunch, but instead, he wanted to run through another set of drills. “I’m retired, but I can’t stay away,” he joked. “Basketball isn’t what I do—it’s who I am.”

As he moved through another series of drills, I saw something I hadn’t noticed before. He was smiling. It wasn’t a big grin, just a small, private smile that seemed to say, I love this. Even now, after all the championships, the accolades, the hours of grueling work, he found joy in the grind.

When he finally stopped, I couldn’t resist asking, “How do you still love this? Isn’t it exhausting?”

His response was instant. “Of course, it’s exhausting. But that’s what makes it beautiful. When you find joy in the struggle, you’re free. Everyone wants to be great when it’s easy. But when you learn to love the hard parts—the pain, the sweat, the setbacks—nothing can stop you.”

And there it was: Lesson Four. Joy doesn’t come from victory; it comes from loving the process, every messy, exhausting, painful step of it.

Evening: Passing the Torch

As the sun dipped below the horizon, Kobe and I wrapped up with a quiet moment on the bench. He leaned back, looking out at the empty court. “What’s next for me?” he asked, almost to himself.

“That’s up to you,” I said. “But here’s what I’ve learned today: you’ve mastered the art of becoming. Now it’s time to master the art of being.”

He raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“Everything you’ve done has been about striving, pushing, achieving. But what if your greatest contribution isn’t about doing, but about inspiring others to believe in themselves the way you believed in yourself? To pass on what you know, not through wins and losses, but through your presence, your wisdom?”

He nodded slowly. “Maybe,” he said quietly. “But I’ll always be striving for something. That’s just who I am.”

We sat there for a while, two figures in the dimming light, surrounded by echoes of games long past and dreams yet to be realized. The Mamba Mentality wasn’t just about winning. It was about pushing limits, understanding yourself, and finding peace in the struggle.

And for me, that day with Kobe was a lesson I’d carry forever. Because in the end, greatness isn’t just about what you achieve. It’s about what you learn—and what you inspire others to become.

(This day never happened for me, but I long imagined that if I had the opportunity to meet Kobe Bryant, how might it have transpired? I have, however, worked with some of his outstanding contemporaries and this emanated from Bryant to them. As much as we marvel at the physical attributes of professional athletes, it is the focus, drive, and orientation and things like joy, process, and discipline, along with their other mental and emotional attributes that separate the stars from the also-rans.)

Bob Fagan has just published “The Little Book of Questions That Matter — A Lifetime Companion For Transforming Your Life.” It is available on Amazon.