Did I get your attention? Before you think this post is about some embittered, poor woman destined for membership in the "Old Maid Club" complete with a lifetime supply of cats, let me assure you. It is not.
I am a tennis player. I eagerly peeked through the fence holes watching my dad play when I was barely old enough to walk on my own. As I grew older, my dad would tote my grade-school self along to the park for his match and give me a racquetball racket and a ball. I would never tire of hearing the thud, thud, thud against the huge green wall outside the courts. Sometimes I'd take a break to study my dad's game and try to emulate his fancy technique. Other times I'd end up running after the rogue tennis balls that were attempting a daring escape into the wooded area near the courts. During my awkward middle school years no matter how bad my day was, I could always count on warm summer evenings spent enjoying the sweet sound of a tennis ball hitting my racquet until the sun set. My older brother, dad and I would ride our bikes to the neighborhood park after supper and play until our arms were dangling with exhaustion or the dusky mosquitoes became unbearable, whichever came first. We'd quietly curse the disrespectful kids rollerblading on the courts next to us and laugh as we tried to earn a soda by pegging my dad at the net. Then we'd climb onto our bikes and coast down the hill to our house (it was a blessing that we had a downhill journey on the way home). Post-tennis snacks consisted of a heaping bowl of ice cream with Nesquick chocolate mix on top. And then satisfied, spent, and elated I'd crawl into bed and sleep like I hadn't a care in the world.
But now...my cares are plenty and many are unwarranted.
A few months ago I began playing competitively again following a long hiatus after the close of my college career. It has been a very humbling experience for me. I'm pretty rusty granted, but nonetheless ranked as a 4.0 player so my matches are against other 4.0 players. In five matches so far, I've managed to squeak out a "w" in only one. And, to see the lineup of my competitors you'd think I was in the senior league. A fair assumption is that the youngest opponent I played was 40. So, yes sports fans, that means I'm getting schooled by players that are at least 10-20 years my senior!
In a particularly grueling match last week, I thought of the title of this post because of its proximity to Valentine's Day. I thought it would be humorous to post this ON Valentine's just to spite the holiday. In tennis scoring Love = 0. . In my recent match if you were to look at any given time, you would've thought I was winning. I had two aces for goodness sake. But, believe me a couple of aces a winner does not make. I lost the match 6-0, 6-1. That's bad in case you aren't familiar with tennis scoring. Sometimes in my life, I am tempted to gaze at the other courts. I see the aces and ardently wish that I could have that same kind of luck or skill or talent or hair, boyfriend, job, house or fill in the blank. But the truth is, I am looking when an ace is happening and I don't see the whole match. I compare my whole match to their one ace. I need to remember my love of the game. How I enjoyed playing not to win, but because I enjoyed the people I was with, the sound of the tennis ball on my racquet, the laughter, and the ice cream :).
Life is not about winning or points. It's not about who has more or who is "better". No one ever shouts across the street at you 40-Love. But if people said I was Love (0), I'm starting to think that maybe I wouldn't mind.
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