Tennis, a Match with Myself

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Without further ado, today’s pocket.

I started playing tennis again. It is joyous. It is always joyous when you discover a part of yourself you thought was lost.

I love tennis. I love the way a new can of balls smells when you pull back the metal tab and pop it open. It is the scent of something fresh and manufactured at the same time. It reeks of possibility. I love being outside chasing after a ball. I love the sound my racquet makes when I hit the ball in just the right spot, when it lands on the other side of the net just where I want it too.

I love how tennis is scored, how it’s easy to know exactly where you are supposed to be on the court. I love that if you haven’t scored any points, you are referred to as love, not as a loser or a zero. It’s a small kindness, and I cherish it.

I love that every time I serve, I get to look up at the sky and remember how lucky I am to be outside at this precise moment under these clouds and this sun.

My return to tennis has been smooth. I found a friend to play with, and our schedules and abilities align well. It helps that we enjoy each other’s company. After yoga on Saturday mornings, I hop on my bike, strap my tennis racquet on my back, and bike along the river to the park until I reach the tennis courts on the north side of town. It’s luxurious really, a Saturday filled with yoga, biking, tennis, and time outside along the river. It’s a true leaning into my favorite things.

Sometimes on the bike path, I hit a rough patch, and my water bottle is knocked out of my basket. Today, my chain popped off as I was trying to shift gears. My return to tennis has also been like this, bumpy. If you used to do something decently and then stopped doing it for thirty years, you probably have an inkling of what I’m talking about. I’m kind of terrible at tennis now.

I double fault frequently. If you aren’t familiar with tennis, this just means that I’m given two opportunities to serve the ball into the right spot, but I keep hitting it in the wrong spot. While I love the sound my racquet makes when it makes contact with the ball, and I direct it where I want it to go, I seem to have forgotten how to make this happen. It turns out tennis is not like riding a bike where muscle memory is concerned. I have forgotten a lot of things I used to know how to do.

The most challenging part of my return to tennis though has nothing to do with my body. It is the match that I’m having in my mind. In any physical sport, your mind and your body have to communicate with one another, and when your body isn’t doing what you want it to, your head has to respond, and this response is key. How do we talk to a body who isn’t doing what we want it to?

This is when I realize that my 45-year-old self has something to offer to this situation. I have a lot more practice at being kind to myself now than I did as a teenager.

Teenage Mary could rock a tennis skirt, and her backhand was wicked, but the road to self-love and acceptance hadn’t quite opened up to her yet. This road isn’t always a smooth one for me now. I still sometimes get caught up with the score rather than focusing on how to improve my game and have fun. This applies to my life off the court as much as on. I fret over how many subscribers I have, how many people are liking my posts, rather than focusing on my writing and the joy it brings me. I compare myself to others rather than appreciating my own strengths and seeking to improve myself in meaningful ways. I get caught up with being right rather than focusing on what healing looks like for myself and the ones I love.

Recently, I read an interview between Jane Ratcliffe and Martha Beck where Martha shared how radically our lives would change if we spoke to ourselves with kindness. We all know how to be kind, we just don’t always apply that kindness to our daily lives. We don’t always let kindness play a role in the mental games we play in our heads. Martha even shared a story about how Thich Nhat Hahn once said that he found it difficult to go through an entire day being kind. If Thich Nhat Hahn, a renowned global spiritual leader and peace activist, experienced kindness as a journey rather than an arrival, then how can I expect anything less for myself. While I’m still arriving on the road of kindness, it is definitely wider and more expansive now, than it was for me when I was 15, and I’m grateful for that.

I play tennis with the same racquet I used in high school, but I’m putting a new grip on it, and I’m having it restrung. In essence, I’m reframing it.

Each time I step out on the court, I greet my teenage self. I love this determined girl who plays to win. I embrace her tenacity, her spirit, and her steadfastness. When I meet her on the court, I offer her a hug and a sip of water. Then, I gently suggest that we try things differently. As we toss the ball into the air, we let go of the fear of failing and focus instead on the possibility of change. Together, we move from where we were to where we are to where we want to be, each step steeped in kindness.

I would love to continue this conversation in the comments. What resonates for you today? How do you talk to yourself? Has the conversation changed over the years?