Tennis Lessons
True players know that tennis is not a sport, it’s a way of defining oneself. It puts you at the mercy of core elements. The glare of the sun in your eyes feels fiercely personal, the wind becomes a fickle frenemy.
The court brazenly exposes your personality. Like, I’m out here trying to serve outfits and aces, swinging with determined resolve in a pleated miniskirt and high ponytail.
I’ve played long enough to learn all of this about myself: I have quiet strength; a soft intensity. I’m deliberate, composed, and go about my game with a high-frequency zeal. Endurance is my greatest advantage. I return from setbacks, adjust, and steady myself. I’m ready for whatever comes next.
Sometimes I’m a show off with fancy footwork. I dance around the baseline, shake ass and get silly- taking full twirls when I miss a shot. I add panache to my technique when I anticipate a power play. I randomly belt out dramatic grunts. I laugh A LOT.
Because if you’re not having fun you’re missing the point of the entire game.
Athletes are trained to win, hit clean, slam with precision and aim with surgical placement. Tennis is the only game where love means nothing yet it touches every major muscle group, especially the heart.
Beyond fitness, it’s mental. There’s a testing dynamic between you and the person on the other side of the court. There are unseen opponents that show up- like unwanted thoughts, interfering emotions, and unwelcome distractions.
Then there are the matches in life you don’t train for. Backhands from the powers that be, cheap shots you don’t see coming.
There were times I had to take the bench because of temporary disabilities.
2025 was a timeout year when I had surgeries on both of my feet that left me physically limited. I spent months in orthopedic boots and yielded to a long, slow recovery.
Years before, I entered another offseason after surviving trauma from violence. Vital signs became the stats being tracked during a disruptive hospitalization. I had to accept medication as a necessity and ongoing part of my treatment for health and functionality. Those were the line calls, the boundaries set in place for me. I didn’t choose them but I must honor them.
Healing is deeply humbling and bouncing back gracefully takes a different kind of tenacity. Wins are intimate and incremental- like walking without assistance and taking medication without feeling nauseous.
Resilience is about return. Grit is about presence. Growth is nonlinear. The rest is not mine to control.
I can’t count how many times I’ve swung and missed, or my lifetime aces. It would be like trying to tally every painful tear I’ve cried, or the ones that came from bursting into laughter.
You can’t measure that kind of living.
These simple sensory joys: the vibrations from the ball meeting the strings; the metronomic rhythm of a rally; the intoxicating smell of a fresh can of balls; the pleasure of fully being there.
Then the mental acrobatics begin:
Do I go for it?
Hold back?
Chase it Kalyn!!!
Just let it go.
Not every ball is mine and not every point needs to be proven. Self-worth isn’t in the performance, it’s about showing up and staying in the rally, returning again and again.
