There are four public tennis courts down the street from my house.
For nearly three years, I've walked or driven past them daily, wistfully thinking, I really want to play tennis.
Every time, I've shut it down: no time, no money, no teacher.
Poor me — I can't have what I want.
Last summer, I attempted to live out my dream through my 12 year-old daughter. “This is your dream, not mine.”, she gently reproached.
Poor, self-pitying, me.
Three weeks ago, my friend Margaret's 17 yr-old, tennis-playing niece, Alison, arrived in town for the summer — ready to work.
I could take lessons —
Near my house.
On my schedule.
At a reasonable price.
Would I pick up the ball?
To be fair, my giving permission the slip is understandable:
How I could I possibly do something for fun?
I might actually have fun.
Which would be about me.
My femininity may be called into question.
And I would be “naughty.”
But, there's an even bigger risk when we play the victim: we jeopardize our sense of self.
I did finally make a decision, and here's a hint:
When I hear ‘thwack' signalling that I've hit the ball in the sweet spot of the racquet, I squeal.
Is there something that you are longing to do — just for fun?
How will putting fun in play help your loved ones ace their lives?
When was the last time you squealed with delight?