Someone once said about David Foster Wallace’s Infinite Jest, “Life is made entirely of the middle.”
I wouldn’t know how accurate that summary is — I’ve yet to muster the time or mental stamina to trudge through the whole novel. What I did manage to finish, however, was his posthumous essay collection about tennis, String Theory, which felt like the perfect read given that it coincided with the Australian Open and my sudden (and hopefully not fleeting) urge to pick up a racket. Well, a Padel racket, but close enough.
For the entire month of January, I've actually managed to start playing this new sport. Which threw me in for a surprise because I'm normally not very good at committing to these things. A fundamental flaw of mine — one I’m constantly working on, yes, I'm aware — is that I hate not being good at something right away. I'm very impatient, mostly only on myself. I’m pretty sure this stems from a childhood of luckily excelling right away at the things I was made to try: swimming (which is probably why it’s the only sport I actually care about), playing the piano, quiz bees and writing (basically things that involve outsmarting other people on paper).
Which is why picking up Padel has been a whole new experience for me. Not only is it my first time actually playing, but it’s also my first time being forced into doubles (with my husband, no less) and my first time trying out a sport purely out of peer pressure. I’m not instantly that good at it — which normally would be my cue to quit — but this time, I don’t have that option. So I have no choice but to keep playing: suck at it, get a little better, suck again, and then play some more.
Interestingly, this whole "flailing at padel" thing has pushed me to overcompensate in other areas, just to balance out the feeling of failure. I’ve actually stuck to a daily walking/running routine, read more, written more, and paid attention to more sports than I ever have. I have watched more sports documentaries, read more sports histories, learned more about sports-related tech and patented inventions, and deep-dived into more athletes' Wikipedia pages than I ever had in the last 30ish years of my life. Turns out, being frustrated about one thing has somehow made me better (and weirdly well-informed) at everything else.
I know, it's not a zero-sum game. But I'm compelled to at least break even with myself—if I can’t be instantly good at one thing, I might as well get better at everything else I'm doing in the meantime. Funny how the impulses we learned as kids still somehow run the show as adults. Even funnier, it works. I'm actually improving in other aspects of my life just because I'm sucking and still trying at one thing. Imagine that? Being pikon is the self-improvement hack I never saw coming.
One thing I like about padel (which is something also present in tennis): the second serve. A built-in do-over, a quiet acknowledgment that messing up the first try doesn’t mean the game is over. There’s always another chance to get it right. Leaves room for error — although just one, before it becomes a fault. Still. Another shot is always there.
"Life is made entirely of the middle." If that's true, then this middle I am currently in, while feeling hopeless, is essential. Learning to sit through discomfort and the long tedious stretches of the routinary, is just part of the deal. So far, actually, I haven't really failed; I'm just not that good at one thing yet. But I've become better at other things, so that's definitely got to count for something. Right?
Hmm. Now that I think about it, maybe tackling Infinite Jest wouldn’t be the worst idea — if I’m already wading through struggle and clamoring for small wins, might as well go all in.
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