There is a strange rhythm to ambition. We chase one thing, and in reaching it, we quickly look to the next. The mountain that once seemed distant becomes familiar, and the eyes shift toward the horizon again. It is a cycle that often moves faster than we realize, quietly reshaping what we think is possible.
I remember speaking with my best friend about this exact idea. We were discussing our goals, the dreams that seemed to live just outside of what we thought we could grasp. I told him he should dream bigger, to stretch his vision beyond the comfortable edges of what he believed was attainable.
His response surprised me. He said, "It would be dope if I could own an NBA team."
It struck me because it felt enormous, almost untouchable. But instead of dismissing it, I leaned into the idea. I said, "All right, let’s think about how to do it."
What followed was a quiet exercise that reshaped my understanding of scale. I began studying what it would take. I looked into the process. I broke down the entry points, the requirements, the capital structures, the private equity groups, the investment pathways. I examined the leverage someone might need to become an owner. I studied examples like Jay-Z, who acquired a one percent stake in the Brooklyn Nets, not simply through raw wealth but through his ability to leverage influence, cultural power, and unique value. He did not just buy in; he created opportunities that redefined his reach.
What fascinated me most was not the ownership itself, but the realization that this was within reach. What had once seemed impossibly distant now felt tangible, not simple, but possible. The walls around the dream were not as tall as I imagined.
I thought about how this realization layered against where I had just been. Only a week prior, I sat courtside at Game Six of the NBA Finals. I remember thinking, I cannot believe I am here. This was a moment I had never imagined I would experience. It felt distant from the life I thought was possible. And yet, I was there. What felt impossible had quietly become reality.
These moments build on each other. They expand what you think is possible, step by step, until the unthinkable becomes a practical conversation.
But then I was left with a deeper question. After all the research, after all the possibilities were mapped out, I asked myself quietly, is this something I actually want?
Ownership at this level is not a trophy. It is not a moment frozen in celebration. It is a business. It is work. It is a seat at the table with billionaires. And the question becomes, what can you offer them? What value do you bring to that room? What do you contribute that makes your presence essential?
It is no longer simply about wealth. It becomes about scale, about navigating complex ecosystems of power and influence. It is about offering something that cannot be easily replaced.
For some, that is the dream. For some, that is the destination. But for me, this was not about the outcome. It was about the exercise. It was about continuing to dream bigger, to push beyond what I thought I was allowed to imagine.
But it also forced me to confront the deeper question: what do I actually want?
It is easy to chase the next enormous goal simply because it is there. But the quiet work is asking whether the pursuit truly aligns with what brings fulfillment, or whether it is simply another symbol, another chase, another ladder.
For me, the answer was not ownership of an NBA team. It was the discipline of asking the question. It was the practice of stretching the imagination and then interrogating the desire.
It is a valuable exercise to study what it takes. It is an even more valuable exercise to study what you truly want.
Because in the end, building wealth is not simply about reaching for the largest object in the room. It is about understanding what matters to you when everything becomes possible.
And perhaps the greatest clarity is not in reaching the door, but in realizing whether you ever wanted to open it.
