Serena of the south west
What’s it like to realize that you’re not the person you thought you were halfway through your life?
Exhilarating?
Terrifying?
Liberating?
Nauseating?
All of the above?
Let me tell you something about a little discovery I made this summer: I’m good at sports.
That’s right. I AM ATHLETIC.
You see, I always thought that I was terrible at sports. That my world was with the “artists,” the creatives, the intellectual misfits, the indie rockers.
This belief started in Junior High School. When I was a shy and uncomfortably overweight pre-teen who’s parents had recently divorced.
I had been playing the violin for a couple of years in elementary school at my mom’s urging. When it was time to chose a Junior High School my mom convinced me to apply to Mark Twain For the Gifted and Talented (I kid you not, that was the name!!). A special public school that bussed kids in from all over Brooklyn.
You had to have a “talent” to get in. And I got in with my violin playing (which actually sounded more like cats screeching to an agonizing death).
The rest of my friends from elementary school made it into the “Dance and Athletics” programs.
From the very moment I was selected for music, I became certain that I couldn’t also be athletic. There was a lot of proof in the pudding—as a chubby prepubescent kid I couldn’t climb a rope or do arm lifts to save my life.
I wasn’t part of the confident, athletic crew. I belonged with the creative, sensitive crowd.
Over the course of my life, I’ve experimented with lots of physical activities from swimming and jogging to yoga. But me, athletic, not in a million years.
That’s just not part of my identity. That’s not of my DNA.
But this summer something shifted. I decided to take some tennis lessons while vacationing in the south of France in the small village where my mother-in-law lives.
I signed up for a course with the 73-year-old French coach named Jean Pierre who was my husband’s coach as a kid and is still kicking it strong!
My motivation? If I’m being honest with you, << Test First Name >>, I though it was a legitimate escape from my motherly commitments and a chance to take in some fresh mountain air. Plus my son and my husband are tennis-obsessed and it was a way to taste their world and see what all of the fuss was about.
Thirty minutes into my first course, after Jean-Pierre showed me how to hold the racket, how to position my body in order to hit the ball at the right angle, he stopped our training and came up to the net.
He said, “Are you sure you’ve never played tennis before? You’re really good at this.”
And then he went on:
“You pick things up quickly.”
“You’re determined.”
“You observe and adapt quickly.”
“You’ve got great sense perception.”
“You’ve got personality.”
I laughed at his compliments a bit awkwardly, but still let them linger in my mind.
What he said about me didn’t totally surprised me. He was pointing out parts of my character and personal narrative that I believe are true, but that I've never applied to tennis.
I saw myself in the person he described even though the context was unfamiliar.
You see, << Test First Name >>, you and I have inherent skills and talents that we think are reserved for certain contexts, certain vocations, certain professions.
But what happens if we decide to apply them elsewhere, in a field that excites us but that’s totally unknown?
What if we can actually thrive using our inherent skills in a space that’s foreign? What does that say about us?
What parts of our identity lay dormant because we haven’t yet decided to experiment who we are in a new environment?
I don’t plan on becoming the next Serena Williams, but I do have a tennis class this Friday that I’m excited about because it’s a new chapter in my life that makes me feel alive in a completely different way.
What inherent character traits can you plant in a new pot?
Maybe you’ll realize you’re more than who you think you are.
That there are sub plots to the narrative of your life that are waiting to be explored.