Born an abomination. Sweat flowed from his pores, his limbs twisted, his foot bent inward, his face contorted with what looked like evil intent. In a world where physical beauty was wisdom, power, and worth, this baby boy had to be a monster. His mother, ashamed but with no remorse, sent the baby flying from the top of Olympus, banishing him from the gods for life.
This is the sad story of Hephaestus.
Hephaestus fell for a full day, hurtling through the cosmos, until he arrived in the land of the mortals. There he was taken in by two sea goddesses who raised him hidden in a cave under the sea. In his loneliness, he discovered he had the unique skill of creation. He made trinkets and jewelry. He built his own forge, and the forge became his life.
The other gods had beauty, strength, speed or wisdom. Not Hephaestus. The lack of drove him to work.
After years of sharpening his mind and his craft, he wanted revenge on his mother. In the darkness of the ocean he built the most beautiful throne ever crafted, and sent it to her as a present. In her excitement, she claimed the throne. The moment she did, hidden chains swallowed her. The gods pulled. They sliced. They put fire to the chains. Nothing they did could free her.
Almighty Zeus made a deal with Hephaestus. If he freed his mother, Zeus would give him a place among the gods, his own forge, and the most beautiful of all goddesses, Aphrodite, for his wife.
Hephaestus accepted.
He was relentless at his forge. He crafted weapons, shields, Pandora the first female human. He became irreplaceable among the gods. The greatest blacksmith of all time.
But it wasn't enough.
While Hephaestus hammered over the fire, his wife snuck away to sleep with Ares, the god of war. So Hephaestus built a trap. A net so fine it could not be seen, so strong nothing could break it. He laid it over his marriage bed and told Aphrodite he was going away.
When the lovers were caught, he called every god on Olympus to come and witness. He wanted them to see what he had endured. He wanted validation. He wanted them to finally understand who he was and what had been done to him.
They came. They saw Aphrodite and Ares tangled in his net. And they laughed.
Not at the lovers. At all of it. At the sad, overworked husband. At the device. At his desperation to be seen. The gods laughed at the disowned son once again, just as they had every time he limped through their halls.
He had thought the trap would finally win him their respect. It won him their mockery.
The lovers fled. Hephaestus went back to his forge. His limp worsened. His shoulders grew so large his body couldn't hold their weight. He hunched from side to side, sweating over the fire and flames for the rest of eternity.
Hephaestus is the perfect warning story for the ambitious human.
When the motivation, the drive for more, comes from a place of desperation to belong, from the feeling of not being enough, the end result is disaster.
Like Hephaestus, I believed that through dedication to my work, I could be enough.
My whole life was dedicated to chasing the NBA dream. I was certain that if I could play in the NBA, I would feel worthy as a human. I was lucky enough to make that dream come true.
But the feeling of not being enough only grew as I wore the NBA logo on my shorts.
I started wearing an arm band like the other players. I bought Kobe's shoes so I would look like I belonged in the locker room. I was first to the gym every day, letting it fly on the shooting gun. Not to get better. Not to improve. To be seen. To be accepted. To prove that I was part of it all.
I was building a net. Trying to catch the proof that I was enough. That my mastery over basketball had given me reason to be loved, to belong.
But it doesn't work like that.
The best part of success is learning that outside achievement doesn't fix you.
Hephaestus tried. He spent eternity at the forge, hunched over the fire, making beautiful things. The work didn't fix the feeling. Eventually it became the place he hid from it.
I leave Hephaestus bent over the fire of his forge, attempting to feel like he belongs through his work. One must imagine, Hephaestus exhausted and burn tout.