Joey Bass

My name is Joey, and last year my life changed forever.

 

It happened in a moment—a car accident that took both of my legs. One second, everything was normal. The next, everything I thought I knew about my future was gone. The hospital room became my world. Machines, pain, silence… and thoughts that were louder than anything else.

People looked at me differently after that. Some saw tragedy. Some saw limitations. Some saw the end of the life I used to live.

But they didn’t see me. ​

They didn’t see the fire that was still there.

Losing my legs didn’t take who I was. It didn’t take my drive. It didn’t take the things I loved.

I still play softball. When I’m on that field, I’m not defined by what I lost. I’m defined by what I can still do. Every swing, every play, every moment reminds me that I’m still an athlete. I’m still a competitor.

I still play basketball too. The court is freedom. The sound of the ball hitting the floor, the rhythm, the movement—it reminds me I’m alive. It reminds me that ability isn’t about what’s missing. It’s about what remains.

And I still work on my lowered trucks. That’s where I find peace. The garage doesn’t care about limitations. It cares about passion. Tools in my hands, grease on my fingers, building something, improving something—that’s still me. That’s always been me.

I didn’t lose my life in that accident.

I gained a new perspective.

I learned how strong I really am. I learned that strength isn’t measured in what you have—it’s measured in what you refuse to give up.

There are hard days. Days when the reality hits harder than usual. Days when frustration tries to creep in. But those days don’t define me.

Because I’m still here.

I still live my life.

I still do the things I love.

I’m not a victim. I’m not broken. I’m not finished