confidence and fireflies
[Alt text: A small part of Bisa Butler's quilt, "Don’t Tread On Me, God Damn, Let’s Go! — The Harlem Hellfighters" that shows a Black WWI soldier squatting close to the ground, looking at the camera or viewer.]
For the last couple months, I've been taking beginner group tennis lessons, once a week, at Rock Creek Tennis Center. Imagine a stadium where professional tennis tournaments happen, surrounded by a handful of outdoor courts, with five more courts inside "The Bubble," a space wrapped in some kind of Tyvek suit where tennis gets played year-round. Beyond the stadium and tennis courts are acres and acres of park land, where extended families have barbecues, birthday parties, etc. This little chunk of DC, I think, is all National Park Service land, which means it's for everyone, regardless of age, income, or ethnicity. It is, thankfully, nothing like a country club.
For the first five-week session, my teacher was a Russian man with a permanently popped collar, 1980s style. This man takes his collars and his job VERY seriously. When we screwed up, he would lecture us, using all kinds of metaphors (e.g. parabolas) to explain what he wanted us to do, as if we could learn by listening instead of actually hitting balls. But still, it was fun when I did get to hit the ball, even if it went up over the fence into the next court. I was there to re-learn the basics.
Once that first set of classes ended, I immediately registered for the next. Day one of the second session, The Russian saw me in the office and said "You're with me." I followed him to a court in The Bubble, where he started teaching the exact same class I had just finished. I sighed and resigned myself to another five weeks of teacher-talking-too-much, but then the teacher on the next court came onto ours to figure out why there were so few people in his class and so many in The Russian's.
Turns out, I was in the wrong place. I happily followed the other teacher, Dr. Valentine, over to the next court. And aside from a few non-tennis-related days of higher than normal anxiety and whatever hormonal reckoning/shitshow is happening inside this 50-year-old body, I have not stopped smiling since.
Doctor Valentine is the best. He's shorter than me, balding, has a thick accent (I have since learned he is from Nigeria), and radiates positive energy. Instead of lectures, he has mantras. A few of my favorites:
CONFIDENCE! He calls that out every time he starts hitting balls to us. He also greets former students that way. No "hello," just "CONFIDENCE!" When I walked into the office a couple days ago to find out what court we were on, he was sitting on a bench, eyes red, looking tired. He saw my face and announced, CONFIDENCE! I've never had much self-confidence about anything. Maybe this will help?
RELAX! This is what he says when our body language is too stiff. And he's absolutely right. If I un-clench, I'm much more likely to hit the ball over the net. Also, in general, I am way too uptight and need every possible reminder to RELAX!
UP! UP! UP! Imagine this in almost a falsetto, after you've hit a few balls into the net. It's partly about your technique, partly a big dose of "I'm rooting for you to get it this time."
I LIKE THAT SOUND! Whenever we make a solid hit, when the ball makes contact with the "sweet spot" of the racket, that's his response. Positive reinforcement!
DON'T BE NICE! He likes to tell us we can be nice off the court, after the game. But if a ball is coming to us at the net, he wants us to go full Hulk Smash on it.
VERY SIMPLE! When he shows us how to do something — serve, backhand, whatever — he models it for us several times in a row, showing us how easy it is. Just drop the ball, step forward, and swing. See, it's VERY SIMPLE! This mantra is for instilling CONFIDENCE!, and to prevent us from overthinking things.
During some drills, he will have each person hit 10 or 20 balls in a row. When we hit the last one, he throws both arms up in the air, celebrating our success. He seems genuinely happy for us. I want him to adopt me.
Sometimes we have a few minutes to chat with him before or after class. This dude is amazing. Here's what I've learned so far: He grew up left-handed, playing soccer, not tennis. Then a soccer injury fucked up his left arm. So he decided to play tennis instead — with his right hand. Oh, and a few items from his bio:
30+ Years of coaching & playing experience
Played and Hit with Arthur Ashe in 1974 at (Washington Star International), Washington D.C.
Former Collegiate Tennis Player
Boeing 737 Captain/Training Captain & Pilot Examiner
U.S. FAA Certified Flight Instructor, Instrument, Single & Multi-Engine Airplane – Land
Master of Education Degree in Aerospace Education
Ph.D Aeronautics
I don't need my tennis teacher to have a wall full of advanced degrees or know how to fly planes, but holy shit, right?
This past Monday it rained, so class was in The Bubble. It was probably 85 degrees in there, with 95% humidity, and every square inch of my clothing was soaked through with sweat. I did not care; I didn't want the class to end. When the power went out, The Russian kept teaching his class in the dark. Doctor Valentine said we just had to wait a few minutes, and he passed the time by telling us stories about Nigeria. Told us about kids playing tennis at night in a village, where they had generators to power the lights. When the generators failed, the kids had to figure out how to fix them. Every single one of those kids went on to college and eventually became some sort of electrical engineer. They probably had a lot of CONFIDENCE!
After class, as I was walking to my car in the dusk, I saw a tiny flash of light. And then another and then a hundred more. Fireflies! I had forgotten all about fireflies. And don't think I ever saw one in California. As a kid, fireflies at dusk gave me this internal thrill, like something really exciting was about to happen — or could happen any minute. This time, I imagined them as small winking tennis/life mantras, echoing everything that had just made me smile so hard in class.
On staying sane
The last time I wrote, I was a ball of anxiety about being alone in a never-ending pandemic, so I asked how you all were handling it. Some responses:
"Over the last two years, and particularly in 2020 and first half of 2021, I found myself slipping into anxiety, depression, and even apathy, I was feeling overwhelmed with it all, and living alone (except for my feline roommate) didn’t help. To help keep me from wallowing in the muck, I came up with a few strategies: 1) Started contacting friends and former co-workers all over the country and in Ireland and the UK to arrange time for extended phone call/Skype session. It really helped to hear everyone’s stories and to see how they were coping with the whole situation. 2) Created a playlist of songs that lift my spirits and make me want to get up and dance! This was huge! 3) Reminded myself to SMILE more often, even when I’m alone. Just doing that lifts my spirits and energy. It’s amazing how it can change your mood and outlook. Keep putting one foot in front of the other. This life thing is just a challenge for us to do the best we can with our limited abilities. It's what has worked for me for many years. 4) Took breaks from streaming the darker shows and movies (even though I love them) to watch movies and shows with happier themes and outcomes."
"Keep putting one foot in front of the other. This life thing is just a challenge for us to do the best we can with our limited abilities. It's what has worked for me for many years."
Links
The Eve 6 guy is back with more great advice about depression. His is the only advice column I actually enjoy reading. (Input)
Not sure if I've mentioned this before, worth noting twice anyway: If you EVER have a chance to see a Bisa Butler quilt in person, drop everything and run to that exhibit. I spent a good half hour staring at her quilt in the Renwick a week or two ago. Unbelievable and almost unreal that one person can have that much talent.
I made this awesome ice cream cake on Saturday and my 6-year-old niece approved. (Food52)
Informative and short video about the history of Blaccent. (YouTube)
There is a shit fountain in Chicago. (Atlas Obscura)
Crowdsourcing help to get two bowls unstuck. (Twitter)
Dog steals food from altar at church. (Boing Boing)
Speaking of church, some clever signs. (Sad and Useless)
If shitty common depression advice were applied to other illnesses. (Medium)
An oompah band covering AC/DC. (YouTube)
If you need a last minute gift for an asshole? (Sad and Useless)