Everyone else has days when they don't want to smile, when you

Hear, O listeners, the words of Greg Oden, whose journey bore both glory and sorrow upon the fields of basketball: “Everyone else has days when they don’t want to smile, when you just want to come in and be regular.” At first these words seem heavy, almost weary, yet within them lies the timeless wisdom of the human condition. For even those who are praised, even those raised to heights of fame, feel the weight of days when the heart is tired and the face grows weary of constant smiles. Oden speaks for all souls who long, in hidden moments, to step away from the mask of performance and simply be—ordinary, unburdened, human.

The meaning of these words rests upon the ancient truth that man is not made to carry joy unbroken at all times. Just as night follows day, so too must sorrow, fatigue, and stillness follow the seasons of gladness. The smile, though powerful, cannot be forced without breaking something within. Oden, whose career was marked by injuries and trials, knew deeply the ache of being expected to radiate cheer when inside he bore the silence of struggle. His words teach us that it is no weakness to step away from performance and embrace the dignity of being regular, honest, and real.

History itself provides us with examples of this wisdom. Consider Abraham Lincoln, a man remembered for his strength and vision. Yet those close to him knew of his “melancholy,” a sorrow that shadowed him throughout life. There were days he could not summon cheer, when laughter seemed distant. Yet his greatness did not come from hiding his humanity—it came from carrying it openly, acknowledging the struggle while still moving forward. Like Oden, Lincoln showed that even leaders, even heroes, have days when they do not wish to smile, and that truth does not diminish them but makes them more relatable, more enduring.

This teaching reminds us of the false crowns society often places upon its champions. The athlete, the artist, the leader—they are expected to shine endlessly, to wear a mask of joy even when their soul aches. But Oden reminds us that to be human is to desire the freedom of ordinariness. To be regular is not to abandon greatness; it is to rest from it, to find balance. The ancients knew this too, for even warriors returning from battle would lay down their swords and sit by the hearth, simply as fathers, brothers, or sons.

And yet, there is strength in this vulnerability. To admit that one cannot always smile is to give permission for others to shed their masks as well. It is to weave bonds of honesty instead of facades. When leaders, mentors, or even friends dare to show their humanity, they lift the crushing weight of perfection from those who follow them. Thus, the wisdom of Oden’s words is not sorrow, but liberation: the freedom to say, “I too am human, and that is enough.”

The lesson for us, O seekers, is clear. Do not demand of yourself eternal brightness. Allow yourself days of quiet, of stillness, of simplicity. Honor your humanity, just as you honor your strength. When the world presses you to perform, remember that it is noble to step aside and simply be regular, to breathe without expectation, to live without spectacle. This balance will keep your spirit whole and your strength renewed.

Therefore, let each one practice these truths: accept your ordinary days, for they are as sacred as your days of triumph. Release the mask of false joy when it grows too heavy, and do not be ashamed of honest silence. Respect the humanity in others, recognizing that behind every smile there may be a hidden battle. In this way, you will live truthfully, and truth will give you endurance greater than any mask could provide.

Thus, the teaching is eternal: The smile is a gift, not an obligation. And to be regular is not to fall, but to rest in the grace of one’s own humanity. Take these words to heart, and you shall walk with dignity, even on the days when your spirit seeks only the quiet path of the ordinary.