That's So Mid #9: Better Late Than Never (Beginner Lessons from the Tennis Court)

Plus Intermezzo and Martyr book reviews, the Emma Grede Aspire episode that got me thinking, and a summer recipe

It finally happened. After fifteen years — yes, literally FIFTEEN — I not only booked my first beginner tennis clinic, but I showed up. And then I went back for a second.

It's hard to fathom the part of me that talks about wanting to do things — play tennis, learn French — and somehow let a decade and a half pass me by. If you were around in December, you may remember That's So Mid #6: Seasons, Repeat Behaviors, and Choosing Privacy Over Performance + A Life-Changing Pie Crust Recipe, where I confessed to the absolute insanity of living on rinse and repeat. An obvious theme here at Unfucking Midlife.

What I refuse to do is lament the so-called "lost time." I don't believe in it. Regret is just another way we waste the time we do have.

Instead, I've had to sit with two things:

1. When I really want to do something, I figure it out.

2. There's a time and place for everything — just not all at once.

The first time I found myself on a tennis court fifteen years ago, I had no experience — just a desire to play. I joined a mini local league, convinced my marathoner's body meant I was fit enough to hang. Naive? Overconfident? Just dumb? The jury's still out.

Needless to say, I was obliterated by two different women in their fifties who barely moved beyond swinging their racquets and somehow still ran me into the ground. I never went back.

It wasn't until this week that I remembered the last woman I played — strawberry-haired, Rue-from-Golden-Girls-esque — and how she gently suggested I take a few lessons. Her words didn't land then. But now?

Now is the perfect time. Midway through my 45th year, I'm beginning tennis. And no lie, my runner's body is feeling it. Last week I actually woke up, hobbled to the kitchen, and said, "My hip hurts." The lack of irony almost hurt more.

Why is it that age suddenly matters in these moments?

The truth is, I threw my back out in my twenties — after years of carrying babies, swinging them across my body onto the opposite hip, marathon training, and never stretching. Back then, I had pride about it. Now? Just ibuprofen and ice packs. 😂

Life Lessons from Just a Few Rounds of Tennis

1. I rush into the ball instead of getting myself in the proper position and letting it come to me. I was able to use this metaphor when my son came to me asking for advice on whether or not he should purchase a drum kit that he can get a good deal on, even though he's moving for the summer and would have to either leave it in storage or figure out a place for it. My son, like me, sees the good deal or opportunity and wants to rush at it when we're in no position for it. The fear of missing out. Instead, we can trust that if hang back and focus on setting ourselves up, not only will it come, but we will be ready for it.

2. I highly dislike keeping score when I'm not winning.

3. When I say I don't know where my eyes are looking after missing a ball, it's a prompt for the onlookers to tell me, not laugh.

4. The court feels like a more productive place for me to work out my feelings of frustration about not being good at tennis, as opposed to how I often defer to taking my frustrations out on myself for not being good at adulting.

5. Having the cute outfit makes all the difference. Despite my boyfriend and I having different takes on this, he's the kind of guy who shows up to anything athletic — be it skiing, running, or billiards — without the fanciest gear, looking unassuming, and dominates. And I, well, I am not athletic and know I may not be good at doing the things but at least know I can look the part. While I did pretty well, he acquiesced that my impeccable taste and choice in outfit did make a difference. Use your advantages in tennis and life wisely, my friends.

Now, on to what's been keeping me curious this recently—books, shows, and other things that have caught my attention while I'm nursing my sore ass body...

Reading 📚

For my fiction reading this year, I've read Intermezzo and Martyr. The only Rooney I'd read before was Normal People, and like others, I've found myself unable to get into her books. I don't know—feels like a lot of conversation and my brain is often plot driven. But since my daughter bought this one for me over the holidays along with Martyr and said the Rooney was her favorite so far, I caved and committed.

Intermezzo highlighted to me the complexity of family dynamics, social stigmas around age differences in romantic relations, and what it means to love more than one person at one time. To me, it could not have translated as more true to humans—if given the opportunity to be fully honest—that we are very expansive feeling creatures, especially when it comes to love. As if conditioned by society to restrict ourselves, not only in the idea that we would only have one soulmate or love of our lives, but that we are not deserving of it.

This isn't an advocacy for poly or open relationships, but instead an appreciation of how Peter grappled with being loved by two different women—Sylvia, his longtime love, and Naomi, the much younger college student. Some of the feedback I read was that he was having his cake and eating it too, while missing the plot: they offered the possibility to him. Similar to Margaret trying to talk Ivan out of loving her or keeping it private—the sorts of love that are not supported by the systems our society has built and placed us in. I love that the conversation was had in this way.

And I loved the way she wrote about sex.

High chance that I will read another one of Rooney’s books. I find myself sounding repetitive but her characters feel raw, honest and relatable.

Martyr, from the very first page, I found myself relating—as someone who is active in a 12-step program, the language was very familiar, and not unlike Intermezzo, a protagonist who struggles with loss and love. What I loved most was the intimate invitation Kaveh Akbar offers into what it's like for an Iranian in America. I underlined many lines throughout the book, but this one hit me:

"She said it in English. I woke screaming. English, fifty years of sun. I wept for a week. Separations from what you love best, that is hell. Twice separated, first by a nation and then by its language; that is deeper than pain. Deeper than hell. That is abyss."

This struck me for all of those who have been forced to leave their countries and everything they knew. To feel that sort of loss. Akbar weaves in so many layers— addiction, loss, the Angel of Death, martyrdom, what it means to be caught between cultures while dealing and trying to figure out who you are when everything familiar has been stripped away.

Listening 🎧

I've been hearing about Emma Grede in my feeds recently, and like so many successful women who speak honestly about work and family life, she's been getting some pushback. I got curious to hear what she had to say on her Aspire podcast rather than just the commentary about it. I went in on the Gwyneth interview and damn was I pleasantly surprised.

The one thing I've been mulling over was Emma mentioning Goldman Sachs' annual performance review system that grades the bottom 10% of employees as under-performers. It's a decision made on the numbers, not emotion. It made me think of my personal tendency to lead with emotion. Not just in business or terminating employees, but in relationships—hell, canceling a service that isn't working for me—I'll deliberate, feel bad, rethink, and overthink where as the men in my life just don’t.

I digress. Trust me, it's packed with some great insights for entrepreneurs. Oh, and when she asked GP what she did first thing when she woke up and right before bed, Gwyneth answered, cuddle my husband. Y'all... I hate to admit this but I needed a reminder.

Cooking: 🥬

Earlier in the month, Alison Roman hit our inboxes with "Vegetable Discourse"—the only kind of discourse I want to be involved in. She wrote about ramps, a vegetable I'd never heard of until May while visiting New York and eating dinner with my girlfriends at Roberta's. I didn't have all the ingredients for her recipe, but I pulled it off anyway. The nonexistent window for ramps in the South had already closed, but I had frozen peas and caramelized onions on hand. (Caramelized onions are a staple in my kitchen because they're delicious and making them regulates my nervous system.) I sent a pic to my kids Nick and Faith and encouraged them to add it to their repertoire—easy and filling on a summer night, and you can add chicken or keep it vegetarian.

Tell me in the comments… What would you recommend we read, eat or listen to?