A Big Swing, Later in the Game
On squash and writing.
I was recently offered a spot at a one-day squash tournament here in New York City. I felt a deep sense of gratitude at having received this invitation. It is a real privilege to be “known” enough in your community that people remember to include you in events.
So I showed up on a rainy Sunday to play. Competitive squash for adults is funny, because you can often find yourself playing against people of all ages. For one match, I was slotted against a teen girl who reminded me of myself during my early years of college.
During our match, she was laser-focused. When preparing to serve the ball, she stared into space for an uncannily long amount of time. Her method distracted me since a squash serve is usually quite straightforward and fast. When she did execute, she served with a wind-up that is highly unusual for the sport and was reminiscent of a women’s softball pitch. Coupled with these idiosyncrasies was the presence of her coach, a man who sat on the bench right behind the back glass wall. His energy felt dense, like a paperweight, and it unnerved me. For an informal tournament that had lured most of its participants there with free pizza, this match felt abnormally tense.
Another strange aspect of our game was the number of unforced errors being racked up on my opponent’s side. She was probably the stronger player of the two of us, but she was regularly hitting the ball so hard and high that it was landing wildly out of the court. That is something you might see at practice, but hardly ever in a match scenario.
The tension–as well as our age difference–got into my head. Did this girl think I was weird for being there? Did she think I was old? Normally I play squash to have fun, but in the moment I could see my hand shaking around the racket grip, and my breath was ragged. I tried to coax myself out of this mental hole but I couldn’t, and she beat me.
As a squash player, this is not the first time I’ve gotten in my head over an age difference. This fall I received a cruel and unusual beating at the hands of an eighty-year-old in my club league, and I was livid. Squash brings out my hyper-competitive side, and sometimes I don’t even realize when I’m high off my own supply. I casually suggested to my coach months afterward that maybe I should ask the man for a rematch. With a look that told me from experience that I was in the doghouse, my coach replied that squash is a recreational sport, and I needed to get a life.
On my high school tennis team, I would often hit the ball out of the court or even over the fence. During practice I would hit graceful, fast groundstrokes. In matches, however, nerves got the better of me. Fearful of over-hitting, I would make contact with the ball very softly, with just enough pace to get it over the net. As a tennis player I really never found that balance between power and control.
Squash balls are cold and hard; you have to put a lot of pace on them before they become “hot,” or pliable and bouncy. Fortunately, my over-hitting problem from my tennis days does not carry over to squash. I can hit the squash ball very hard while also keeping it inside the court. Maybe it’s because now I’m an older player and I have developed a certain restraint, physically and otherwise.
The tension between power and discipline makes me consider my writing life. When I first started writing for publication, I was a college kid. Aside from writing for my university’s newspaper, I had some beginner’s luck in larger outlets with not much effort. At that age, I was seduced by the rush of getting published. The feeling of victory in the form of a bright blue hyperlink made me hungry for more. I also loved the experience of expressing myself freely and making something to share with others.
When you are that young, it is impossible to know how to impose discipline over your talent. The necessity of doing so doesn’t even occur to you. It’s fun to win, and you are experiencing the dopamine hit of external recognition. What you don’t really have a handle on yet is your “why.” I didn’t have established boundaries or guiding principles as a writer, and I didn’t know what the longer trajectory of my personal and intellectual interests would yield. For a lot of young people who are just starting their careers, there is talent but not much internal infrastructure yet. You’re not clear on how to use what you’ve been given, and how could you be?
In the years since college, I have published my personal writing on occasion. Behind the scenes, however, I have experienced a lot of delays, restrictions, and moments of stagnation that have significantly hampered the pace at which I would have preferred to move as a writer. As I get older, I increasingly believe that delays are intended to benefit us rather than hurt us. So if that’s true, what have all these roadblocks gifted me?
I have been forced to learn restraint and control, especially over myself. I have also learned strategy: Communicating should be deliberate and intentional, not haphazard. I have additionally acquired clarity regarding my values as a writer. With all the delays it’s no longer difficult to say no to opportunities that feel misaligned, because you’ve already gotten so used to waiting. Patience also allows you to consider what you do and do not truly want to play ball with as a writer.
Now has felt like a good time to start writing more. This time, though, I am more self-conscious and wary of the impending shadow of an intimacy hangover. During the years I wasn’t writing much, I developed a thick patina of restraint and quietude that was necessary for my work environments. Demeanor and comportment became more important than expressions of spontaneous creativity. And now, that part of me is calling the shots and policing my writing life as I make this transition.
As a younger person I never would have placed any value on demeanor, but now I see its hugely positive impact. Tact is great for both productivity and morale. Yet there are limits. Where is the boundary between imposing necessary discipline over yourself and participating in your own strangulation?
When you hit the ball wildly out as a teenager, it’s just another day in your life. That’s not the case anymore when you are a little bit older. Because I now exercise so much control over my speech, both verbal and written, when I do “hit the ball out” at work or in my social life my instinct is to feel terrible about it. With age comes more self-awareness and by extension more self-consciousness. Now the balance in my creative life has shifted in favor of control over self-expression.
When you’re out of the game for a long time, on an ego level you feel powerless to re-enter conversations you left long ago. Paradoxically, you’re also somehow hyper-aware of your own power. You know what you are capable of and you want to act responsibly.
You can’t hit powerful shots all the time, even in squash. In fact, the dropshot–a short, soft shot executed near the front wall of the court–is a deeply important aspect of a squash game. We constantly emphasize the dropshot during practices and drills.
In squash there are several reasons to hit a dropshot, but the big one is probably to put pressure on your opponent. With a short, soft shot, you’re forcing your opponent to run, to get out of position, and probably to hit a defensive, weak shot back to you. As a tennis player, I used to hit the ball softly out of fear. In squash, if I’m hitting a short shot I’m doing so due to strategy. I’m turning the temperature up on the game: I am moving you around, and now I’m making a play to dominate you. In a manner of speaking, If I’m hitting a soft shot in squash, my fangs are exposed.
Slowing down has taken the pace off my creative career but it has also deepened my interest in self-expression for its own sake. Restraint needs to be restrained, too. I started writing more now because I realized I couldn’t not take this swing anymore.
When you’ve been delayed for so long, you have the time to think about what’s really driving you. I love winning in squash, but I also love losing when I am beaten by interesting, fun players who work me so hard that I leave the court smiling. Expressing myself and having fun are the things that I ultimately value as a writer.
I definitely miss the days of unrestrained self-expression. I like being around people who feel unfettered by social constraints that can seem tiresome and oppressive. I increasingly understand the importance, however, of setting parameters around my own self-expression. After all, power and discipline go hand-in-hand.
Found in Central Park—I couldn’t have said it better myself.
