As of March, I decided to leave behind the sport I dedicated 12 years to.
Tennis stands as my greatest teacher. It's taught me more about life than any schooling and I will carry its lessons for the rest of my life. I want to tie this chapter off as clean as I can.
This reflection is in honor of my friends, my coach, my family, and everyone who believed in and supported me through the journey. Thank you.
I believe there's a certain personality that's attracted to tennis. In my opinion, this is attributable to two main factors:
1. Tennis is a meritocracy
If you win, you were objectively better on that day. If you never lose to someone, it's safe to say you're the better player.
2. No one can take the racket out of your hand
When you're in a tournament, you get to play. No one else gets a say of whether you're in, out, benched, or subbed. There's no team politics, schmoozing with coach, or preferential treatment. On the court you can prove yourself. No one can take that away from you.
This individuality is a double-edged sword. After a bad loss, there's also no lacking teammate to blame. There's no poor coaching to complain about. There's no one else to fault, and there's nowhere to hide. The good and bad are all on you.
Here are 3 lessons that I learned in chronological order
1. Respect must be earned.
The beginning of my journey was a formative time. Coaches passed me up, other kids didn't want to warm up with me, and I remember constantly feeling slighted/looked down on.
At my first higher-level tournament, I clearly remember needing a warmup partner. I asked around if any of the other kids wanted to warm up with me. A lot of them dismissively said no. Not because they'd already warmed up, but because they didn't want to be seen hitting with me. At 8 years old, the hierarchy was established, and the only way up was to win.
2. Fight >> Skill
In tennis the "better" player doesn't win. It's typically the one who fights harder. Who's scrappier, more creative, and wants it more. I've seen kids with beautiful technique get absolutely wiped by awkward junk ballers who simply knew how to dig deep and scrape out points. I've been rolled by kids who knew how to get under my skin. Whether or not I should've won on paper was always quite irrelevant.
You have to fight for every point like it's the only thing that matters because in the moment, it is - but after it's over, it's over, and dwelling on whatever happened, whether good or bad, is useless. A double fault or a laser winner are both only worth 1 point.
1. It's you vs you and no one is coming to save you from yourself
In juniors, there's a strict "no-coaching" rule. Once you step on court you become your own coach, critic, cheer squad, and ally. Tennis is a game of mistakes and I often struggled with learning to forgive myself for messing up or losing a point. In the younger age brackets, I lost countless matches to self-destruction - downward spiraling into negativity that led to senseless shot-selection, technical breakdowns, and further emotional volatility. Eventually, most people realize that if you want to win, you have to either root for yourself or find a way to productively channel anger.
Arguably, the most valuable thing I learned is that when 100% effort is given, there is nothing to hold against myself. If I do everything in my power to prepare and execute, I have no reason to be upset. In other words, controlling everything in my control and detaching from winning or losing in a literal sense. Wanting to win is a given, but fixating on result over process is detrimental to true progress and improvement.
Winning is max effort + preparation. Losing is anything less.
personal journey
Eventually I found my groove. Tennis made me excited to wake up in the morning, and I truly enjoyed the process of improving. Through competing, I got to see new parts of the country, make life-long friends, and my identity became grounded in the sport.
Around freshman year of highschool, I tore muscles in my groin, making any quick change of direction quite painful. The doctor told me there was a chance it'd never heal due to issues with my hip anatomy combined with the low amount of blood flow to the area. I distinctly remember thinking that was irrelevant to me. In my mind, it might be the reality for other people, but I would find a way to make a full recovery no matter what.
The first round of physical therapy didn't work, nor did the second. I eventually got surgery, went through rehab, and had to teach myself how to walk again. That didn't work either. Time and time again, I would show signs of improvement only to have it stripped away in sharp pains whenever my movement was returning to full speed. I went vegan for a period of time in hopes of decreasing inflammation and took ice baths every day for a summer. I would repeatedly go weeks to months with no issues, building hope and belief that I was back, only to have it come crashing down soon after. Years of ups and downs, MRIs, and rounds of PT went by without ever making a full recovery. I felt like I was banging my head against the wall, losing my mind over the concept of what my tennis once was. I told myself that I was "well-rounded", that my identity was secure apart from tennis, but when reality came knocking, those notions were challenged, and I was wrong. I began to feel lost and resentful over the sport. At times I considered putting the rackets down, but I couldn't give up. Playing in college was a long-standing goal of mine, and I was determined to see it through.
Through recruiting season, my rankings and ratings began to slip. I had taken significant periods of time away from tournaments to recover, but I needed to compete to have a shot at the schools I wanted. These tournaments were painful for me. I lost to kids I used to dominate and watched as opponents hoisted trophies I used to lift. Most of my early peers now play D1 at big name schools, Ivy's, or had many choices of high-level academic D3. Doing more than one college app was pretty uncommon.
Come junior year, the time to make a decision was nearing. My days were split between training, studying, and leading clubs I wasn't passionate about. I wanted to meet everyone else's expectations for me. I wanted to meet my expectations for myself and felt pressure to be the best at everything among those around me. Looking back, I was so disillusioned to what truly mattered. I no longer played tennis out of love for the sport and I no longer chased things out of curiosity. I played out of desperation, urgency, and spite for where I was vs. where I thought I would've, should've, or could've been had I not gotten injured.
At the end of junior summer, I was between Swarthmore or applying to MIT with athletic support in admissions(40% acceptance rate). Had my rankings simply plateaued, I think I would've gone for MIT, however after falling quite a bit, I was on the stone-cold bubble and was terrified to not only fail but also lose out on a great offer. Swarthmore was willing to offer me despite my injury which meant a lot to me and I felt a strong responsibility to myself to redeem my tennis in college. In the end I chose Swarthmore for the following reasons:
1. I really liked the team and I think the team really liked me
2. The chance to compete for a national title
3. I didn't want to be in a position where someone else determined whether I was in or out
I think I also chose Swarthmore out of an immense fear of rejection and uncertainty.
After a full year here I can confidently say that it was the right choice from a tennis perspective and if I were still playing, there's no group of guys I'd rather be with.
In the weeks following my commitment, I felt good about the decision. But in the next months, I would wrestle with the reality of being somewhere I never thought I'd be. I couldn't shake the feeling of failure. I became bitter and was haunted by both a life where I was healthy and a life where I took the gamble. I questioned my schooling experience and realized how much of my actions and efforts were purely to impress someone else. I distinctly remember looking in the mirror my senior year and seeing a shell of a person looking back at me. Internally, I was at war with myself and hated who I had become. I felt like everything I had done was for someone else, whether it be an admissions officer, coach, or my parents. And subconsciously, I began to tear it down. I turned my back on everything that once made me "me" because I felt foreign to myself. Training felt like a chore and class became unbearable. It got to the point where I considered taking an offer to work full-time out of high-school. To vastly oversimplify, I was desperate for a mental win and saw it as an opportunity to redeem my regrets of past cowardice and inauthentic living. My parents gave a hard no and I dove back into feelings of despondency.
Around the same time I was playing my last season of highschool tennis. Our highschool team was super tight and we won the state championship for the second time together. Through this season and following summer, my love for the game returned and I was playing pain-free. Slowly but surely my mindset improved and I became excited to leave for college.
At Swarthmore, tennis became the highlight of my day. Training with the team and collectively working towards a goal was the most fun I've ever had with the sport. I saw my tennis future here and the team was quickly starting to feel like family.
Life had other plans. We're almost at present day so hey, thanks for reading this far. It means a lot to me. About a month in, I re-tore my groin in the same area as before. More PT and rest didn't work. I told myself I'd give surgery one last try, and if it didn't work, I'd be at peace letting go of tennis, knowing I had done everything within my control. Sitting in practices was tough. While I'm aware that this is entitled and I'm very fortunate and blessed to be alive and in school, spending hours watching others play in the sport that I spent the past few years longing to play at my level wasn't fun. So screw it, one more surgery, if it doesn't work I won't hold anything against myself. I got the surgery over fall break and started recovery. Things seemed to be going well. After a few months, I was moving better and my level was returning. I'm sure you can guess what happens next. On court, running for a ball during spring break, I felt it. Solemnly, I knew it was over, and I was done.
While I still don't know what I want to do with my life, I know I want to chase my technological curiosities. In January, I booked a one-way ticket to SF with no plan to pressure myself into figuring something out. Two days after that fateful day during spring break, in the back of the team van, I interviewed for what would go on to become my summer work in SF. Funny how life works sometimes.
So, what did I learn from all of this?
1. Self-obsession is the worst form of brainrot
I spent so much time ruminating over the stories I told myself about who I am. This whole piece of writing is essentially that and I wonder if I should've even wrote it. There is life, and what we do with it. Thinking about the past, thinking about what I was, who I thought I was, and who other people thought I was, wasted so much energy. I spent so much time thinking about myself and it made me miserable. Life gets infinitely better when we think less about ourselves. Live intentionally, but don't obsess over the self.
2. Gratitude is a force of nature
Bitterness, resentment, and spite are powerful emotions. Hold them too close and you'll burn yourself, but if they're too far you may never make necessary changes. There are infinite things to be grateful for. There are also infinite things to be ungrateful for. Therefore, it's all a choice how we choose to look at our lives. I am grateful that I woke up today. That itself is a beautiful gift that shouldn't be taken lightly.
3. Eyes on your own court
This is something my coach and my dad would repeatedly tell me when I was starting off. It was a reminder to just focus on the work and the process will take care of itself. At times, I've felt frustrated at the feeling of having to be a beginner at whatever path I take up next. Comparing gets me nowhere though, so I just have to enjoy the process of starting from the bottom and making those incremental improvements.
Swarthmore College is a sad environment, but it doesn't have to be. I've struggled to find people with similar career interests and the overall community feels lackluster. However, I refuse to let this place change me for the worse. There are a few great people here whom I hope to build lasting bonds with. There are no pipelines/influences to guide me but there's also no pipeline to carry me somewhere I don't really want to go. If our lives are comprised of the stories we tell ourselves, then I choose to tell myself that I'll be better for having to be that much more competent, that much more resourceful, and that much more sure of where I want to go and who I want to be. I've always been a firm believer that the grass isn't greener on the other side, but rather where you water it. A graduating senior told me, "whatever you're not changing, you're choosing" and I agree 100%.
Whenever I leave this place, whether it's graduation or earlier, I hope I can look back with a smile and tell myself that everything that didn't happen made space for everything that did.