First I need to say thanks to those of you who are still reading this blog and responding with comments. That is amazing. I really didn’t think my little blog would survive my abandonment but apparently it has and here I am again.
Why exactly did I stop writing? The reasons are sundry; excuses I have none. Mainly I’ve discovered that I am not good at sharing my writing space which I’ve had to share for the past year and a half. I’m good at sharing other things. Certainly I’m not stingy when it comes to sharing my opinions. But space is different. I find that my writing muscles are best expressed under certain conditions of privacy and dare I say, anonymity.
Then again, there’s the cat. Yes that same cat. Like most cats, she loves to climb. And sleeping on my desk as I am trying to write is one of her favorite pastimes. That and begging for rubdowns just when my fingers threaten to become busy forming words.
Certainly it’s not because I lost interest in tennis. Far from it. Most of my DVR recordings contain tennis content. If there is ever a recording conflict, tennis will win out every time.
No, I think that the problem with stopping writing is that I could never find the best moment to start up again. I guess part of me felt that something earth shattering needed to happen in tennis to jerk me out of my self-imposed stupor.
But surely Maria Sharapova winning Roland Garros was that moment? Or Sloane Stephens getting too big for her britches and accusing Serena of disrespecting her? And what to make of Nadal’s prolonged disappearance and confident return? Which reminds me of Lance and his admission of his blood-changing, conniving, cheating ways, which we still want to believe never ever, occurs in tennis.
How to choose from the many moments of greatness single-handedly created by Djokovic over the past year? So much to choose from. And where exactly was the tennischick all this time?
For a start, I’ve been playing loads of tennis. And one of these days I will start that series I once promised that I intend to title ‘Adventures in League Tennis’. Or something equally grandiose. Once the season is over I swear up and down “never again!”, and then I go right back for more USTA-unregulated abuse by the Nazi who happens to be Captain.
And then I realized that I needed to take a page from Nadine Gordimer who once famously wrote that apartheid would not end with a bang of celebration but would fold quietly on an ordinary Monday for sure. I did not need to wait for a huge moment in tennis to occur to justify using this muscle that I have sadly neglected. I can do so on a quiet Sunday afternoon, for sure.