My dad, who wore full tennis whites every Sunday, often told me tennis is like life. Now, this is not an original statement. Tennis and overcoming obstacles, tennis and relationship dynamics, tennis and discipline, the comparisons between the game of tennis and various facets of life go on and on. In fact, a boy I met three weeks ago even told me venture capital was like tennis and that you had to identify the start-up’s strengths and press its advantage to find success. Despite the unoriginality of the sentiment, I actually think the comparisons are deserved, especially when it comes to managing your temper.
As a little girl, I had a fiery temper. Not fiery in a heart-warming, wood-burning stove kind of way; fiery as in a dangerous, raging-wildfire-that-devours-everything-in-its-path-and-would-happily-consume-itself-if-that-meant-it-could-keep-on-burning kind of way. I have been told many stories of my stubbornness and the ensuing fits that occurred anytime someone tried to dislodge me from my (usually arbitrary) position on whatever the subject, but what I remember is the feeling of shame that defined those tantrums. I would begin my fits by storming around in frustration. This was usually followed by tears of anger and real stomping on hardwood floors because I couldn’t help it. Eventually, I always reached a crossroads at which I could listen to the calm voices of reason that were my parents (which, being a precocious child, I recognized as the correct choice even then), or I could keep storming on. I almost always chose the latter option.
My tantrums followed this predictable pattern throughout my childhood, as I nearly always chose to keep the fires raging. Why? Because that point of inflection was always a point of reflection: I saw the voice of reason more entirely than I would by the end of the tantrum, and in seeing this, I saw just how far I’d strayed from it. Every single time, though, the immense shame I felt at my initial behavior propelled me to stick it out. If I was to be rude and horrible, at least I would be rude and horrible until the bitter end. The end of the tantrum, when it at last arrived,—usually due to my exhaustion and boredom with my own argument—would almost always be followed by the resolution never to throw a senseless fit again. Instead of dealing with the shame, I pushed it away and focused on being better for the next time. I was usually back to spitting flames within the week.
There are two ways of dealing with that interior dragon once you are aware of its existence: You can choose to learn coping strategies so that the dragon spits controlled amounts of flames just when you need them, or you can shut the dragon in its cave and pretend to forget about its existence. Obviously, doing the first is the wiser option. Not surprisingly, I consistently chose to do the latter.
I joined the tennis team in middle school with little prior experience in the sport. I practiced diligently, but I remained in the last-seeded doubles duo throughout the two years I played. I worked just hard enough to say I was trying but never hard enough to give it my all and face the possibility of real failure. The dragon was there, puffing away in its cave, but every time I glimpsed the cave mouth, I was determined not to see it–out of sight, out of mind. Emphasis on out of mind! This mindset extended to everything–relationships, major academic opportunities, friendships, you name it, but I’m sticking to tennis here for brevity’s sake. I was good at things, because with a good work ethic and a consistent drive to succeed you can’t really go wrong, but I refused to be great. I never put it all on the line because I didn’t want to know what lay on its other side. Unfortunately for high school me, continually repressing my emotional investment in things like tennis—or even other people—so as to avoid the ignition of my tempestuous nature meant that I became another person entirely. In losing sight of the dragon, I completely lost sight of myself.
I recently picked up tennis again, and this time, I have a new mindset: Neither indulgence nor repression are effective. You can’t throw a fit, feel remorseful, and do it all again after a short respite. That is not an option; it’s not fair to the people around you for the hurt you will inevitably inflict upon them, and it’s not fair to you, for your own remorse could drown you if you let it. At the same time, you cannot be so afraid of your own wildfire that you snuff it out at the first hint of smoldering–in smothering it, you smother yourself. So where does that leave you? On the tennis court—where else?
To be successful in tennis, as in life, you need a cool head, which you can achieve through two main mechanisms: preparation and adaptation.
On preparation
You cannot control all the variables of the game, but you can control a few. Control those mercilessly. On the most basic level, you know that your body needs proper nutrients, hydration, and rest to function at its best, so take care of those first and foremost. Beyond this, know thyself. I know feeling blah bothers me while I play, so I need a tennis outfit with a little pizazz–I’m currently thinking of purchasing this Outdoor Voices tennis dress on the recommendation of my hot and sporty Alaskan rower friend Annika (read: she basically is the Outdoor Voice). Speaking of which, your clothes need to fit–just because you wish you could still fit into that tennis skirt from high school doesn’t mean you actually do (hello, suffocatingly tight black spandex skirt from the middle school tennis team). Anything that disturbs your mental clarity when you walk on that court is null and void. Too-loose polo shirt? Change. Unsupportive bra? Switch! Hair in your face? Wear a visor. Though owning the right tools of the trade is helpful, no one ever said dressing well or owning a really nice racquet is the key to playing good tennis. I am the first to say that it can be a factor, but it is not the be all, end all. You’re not going to lose your temper over a strand of hair in your face, but hey, little irritations accumulate.
Speaking of which, the best way to deal with the pent-up annoyances that will inevitably build up during a practice session, whether it’s the gnats buzzing around your head on the court or a backhand that just isn’t doing what you want it to, is to build a mental infrastructure that allows you to let go of them. For example, I know that the flames of my temper are fanned by anxiety. I’ve found that meditating helps with that (a post on this coming soon), so if I want a smooth practice, I need to meditate before I begin playing—even five minutes is fine, so long as I let the winds of the day blow by to allow the skies to clear before I step onto the court.
Now onto adaptation
You’re rested, hydrated, and well-fed, you’re wearing a cute outfit, your hair is out of your face, your shoes are comfortable, you’ve meditated, and your grip on the racket is firm but loose. It’s halfway through practice, you’ve been playing fine but not great, and now you’re hitting a losing streak. Backhand after backhand sends the ball flying into the net instead of soaring over it. All of a sudden, your hitting partner is your enemy, the skies above you are darkening, and the gnats that were annoying before are beginning to feel more and more like blood-sucking mosquitos. Without realizing it, each backhand becomes worse than the last, and now your forehands are going all over the place, too; now you’re scowling, maybe even stomping your feet (yes, really), sending particles of clay flying every which way; now your fondest wish, your only desire, is to shower, to get rid of the sweat and grime; now you’re stressed about all the work you have to do after practice; now you’re tempted to let the racket fly like Rublev at Wimbledon against Comesana, if only to massacre those godforsaken gnats!
If we are at all alike (which, if you’ve read this far, I think we are), this is the point at which you become aware that you are indeed throwing a fit, which coincidentally is the same point at which you reach a fever pitch of embarrassment over throwing said fit. You now have two options: Give in to the subterranean shame and continue the temper tantrum as a means of trying to regain control after the dragon surprised you with its venting, or admit that you lost control, take a time-out to gather yourself, and rein in the dragon so that its fire is sharp and blue and directed at the ball instead of letting it consume you. Remember to give the dragon an outlet when it needs it but above all, remember to remind it who is in control (that would be you). Empowering, isn’t it? Just think of all the darkness you can light up with that piercing blue flame. Can’t you tell I wasn’t talking about tennis at all?
"And then also, again, still, what are those boundaries, if they’re not baselines, that contain and direct its infinite expansion inward, that make tennis like chess on the run, beautiful and infinitely dense? The true opponent, the enfolding boundary, is the player himself."
Great essay tessa :))) Never finished playing tennis without feeling like throwing my racquet. Also love solar power.
I sadly discovered late in life that Tennis is Life. Good on you for starting early and having such a impassioned (and handsome) guide in Thomas. Attempting to control the shame of a consistently abhorrent streak of bad backhands feels very familiar. The meditation of reducing my movements to the essentials of the stoke, honed on thousands of hours nuanced tips, is my controlling the dragon. Lets find ourselves on a court together soon.