Heading into my freshman year of high school, I became involved in a long-term relationship. There's no way that I could see then how impactful it would be from a macro view of my life. Like anything brand new, I was a bit tentative at first. But I became enamored so quickly that a full commitment didn't take long.
During those four years of high school, we were inseparable. My world revolved around that relationship in a way that made it obvious I was never letting go. Then college started, new people and stimuli were there to distract me. My torrid love started going hot and cold, getting re-prioritized closer to the bottom of the list.
In the years that have followed, our relationship has continued to be spotty at best. I often wonder why, since we're such a natural fit. Wilson has been through so much with me. Even though his hyper carbon and graphite frame is sorely out of date, I still love how his grip feels in mine. We make beautiful ground strokes together.
Yes, I'm talking about a tennis racquet and not a real man. Today was probably the first time I've hit a ball in at least a year. And every time the interval is that long, without fail, I come away wondering why. There is something so cathartic and familiar about the court, even when some of my shots aren't worthy of a 1.0 rating.
Watching tennis never gets away from me; it's easy to keep that up through any season and it can be done from the comfort of my couch. Playing tennis requires effort: the season has to be right, a partner has to be found, and court availability can be elusive in the city.
But when there's something that you love and connect with like that, it should be like any human relationship - you should fight like hell to make it fit in your life. So, I'll try harder. Because few things beat the feeling of a well-placed and cleanly struck ball.
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