I started playing tennis at a little swim club in elementary school. (Please note, it was not the local country club, which felt like a very big distinction back then.) This was a summer-only situation, and I remember just a few things from that time: the snack bar was right next to the courts and offered a perfect opportunity to secure a pack of Pizzeria Pretzel Combos; there was a practice backboard on the court and I derived great pleasure from smacking the ball against that thing for as long as possible; we had to run around the courts to warm up, which I liked a lot less than practicing on the backboard. I think I played for the middle school team, and then after that, tennis reared its head only sparingly.
When my husband and I lived in Corpus Christi, one of his flight instructors invited us to play with him and his wife. Just a casual thing, they said. We showed up to a public court in gym-rat clothes and running shoes to find the couple, a few years our senior, dressed head-to-toe in tennis whites and task-appropriate footwear. I believe I saw fancy gear bags. This couple was not there for casual fun, as advertised. They were there to win, which grew evident by their outsized reaction to any point we scored. By the grace of my history of incessant backboard practice and my husband’s sheer force of will, we held our own. But just barely. That day bonded us, but it also felt like we had tapped briefly into a bizarre phenomenon: people could be really weird about tennis.
Fast forward through a few sets played on a decade’s worth of sporadic family vacations to our move to Charlotte, which made me wonder: is everyone playing tennis without me? I have a bias for hyperbole, but it really did seem as though everyone played tennis to socialize. At first, I resisted. I thought invitations to walk or have coffee or grab drinks could sustain any burgeoning social ambitions. But finally I relented: tennis is actually fun, and it’s a great way to foster friendship. And, yes, people are still weird about it.
Initially I played in a clinic one night a week with several women I met through my youngest’s preschool. (Preschool: another great way to meet people, if you can endure the near-constant illness you will experience!) Since then, I’ve started playing in a group lesson with my friend one morning a week. Our “coach” is a rough and tumble type, someone who’ll tell it to you straight. He’s said a few things that would shake a less-sturdy tree. He will openly scream, “No!” and “Over the net, not in the net!” He’ll compare your efforts to the Carolina Panthers’ performance, stomp over to you in a genuine huff and ask you what the hell you’re doing. But still, I keep going back. I’m improving, if at a glacial pace, and that is something to hold onto in your forties. More than that, I think this wild card coach with a heart of gold is helping me off the court, too.
One recent morning, when I was secretly reveling in my dopamine spike over a particularly solid rally–like a true tennis weirdo, the coach said something that took me aback, something along the lines of, “think of how much more you could improve if you actually showed up on time.” Comments about my backhand, my forehand, my volleys, my pitiful excuse of a serve, my footwork, my positioning, my on-court communication–they’ve barely left a mark. But sweeping judgment of my punctuality? Character commentary? Timberrr.
At first I flailed for excuses: it’s hard to get my toddler to early care so I can make it to this lesson during rush hour; last week the puppy was up all night with the runs; I drove behind a landscaping truck; there’s extensive utility repair and an entire church being constructed on Providence. These were all things that had happened. And yet, my friend with children and dogs of her own had always arrived to the lesson five minutes early, no fail. What the hell was my problem?
Was I distracted by smartphones and social media?
Did I have latent ADHD?
Was I selfish?
Really, it could be any combination of these theories. Of course, the coach can’t offer real insight there. But by making his brazen joke at my expense, he helped me realize a personal weakness that I can actually improve much more readily than my serve, which honestly is pretty hopeless. And it’s a weakness that I care to improve, that I think will make my life, and the lives of those around me, better. Sometimes, and I do mean in very specific scenarios, we need jolts like these to pull our heads out of our excuses and address things clearly.
Have you experienced any jolts that helped you improve?
[books]
It’s been really slow reading over here. I’ve been taking my time with The Fraud by Zadie Smith and Bono’s memoir, Surrender: 40 Songs, One Story.
My friend Dara Levan just published her debut, It Could Be Worse, and I picked up my copy yesterday. Congratulations, Dara!
[i liked that]
Read
In the vein of punctuality, I loved Samantha Mann’s November piece for Vogue on trying to tame her flakiness by committing to following through.
Jenni Dawn Muro wrote a beautiful piece about a life-changing car accident.
Watch
Resident Alien. The premise–an alien assumes the identity of a small-town doctor in order to carry out his task of removing humans from earth so that earth can be saved–was a real turn off and initially I didn’t want to watch it. But it’s worth the stretch!
Listen
Popapologist. It’s better than an US Weekly/People binge session on taxi and takeoff.
I took my oldest to Nashville for the weekend last month and we had the great pleasure of attending a show at The Grand Ole Opry. (I saw Taylor Swift’s debut there in 2006!) We saw Matt Schuster’s debut and also heard Larry Fleet and his band play a great show.
Eat
In the event you need Buttermilk Breakfast Cake in your life, check out Alexandra’s Kitchen’s recipe.
Do
This is a simple one. Nature walks. Spring is springing here in Charlotte and I’m finding a lot of joy in the slow ambles.
Buy
If you plan to ski, look into Actual ski socks, trust me.
I am ashamed to say I did not know ‘actual ski socks’ were a thing! I have been skiing for years without them. On my list for next ski season!
A few things--
1. I started playing tennis again (by again I mean I was 15 the last time) when I was 44. That was three years ago. It has been the joy of my adult life!! Well, the unexpected joy. When I quit at 15 it was in a huff. Now it's so much fun. I'm annoyed at myself for waiting so long. Because yeah, my serve is hopeless too.
2. Yes, I did have a sting of a comment that stayed with me for its truth-- it was a fair critique even though it was given offhand and not with bad intent. Though I did burst into tears. It was about me talking a lot, which I really did improve (my podcast notwithstanding. Need to channel it somewhere!). Anyway, I have an episode coming out about this exact comment and how it stayed with me that I just recorded yesterday! SO this was so timely. Won't be out for like six weeks.