89 Minutes Is Not Enough

 I’m not going to belabor the fact that I’d been waiting 13 days for my Wednesday Clinic to reconvene.  Thirteen long, arduous, tennis-deprived days.  Well, they weren’t all tennis-deprived, but they weren’t my Wednesday Clinic, which is it’s own little bit of heaven on earth.

The Wednesday Clinic starts at 9 a.m. and goes until 10:30.  When we were The Monday Clinic, we started at noon.  I liked that because it’s hard for me to get anywhere at 9:00.  Also, it forced me to be extra productive in the morning, accomplishing two or three tasks before I even walked out the door.  Now, with this early start time, I can barely get my shoelaces tied before it’s time to go.  I’m punctual to begin with, but I really hate being late for tennis.  When I’m driving down that last big stretch of road and the clock says 8:59 I panic.  Even though I know I’m only two minutes away – 89 minutes of tennis is not enough.  I feel deprived if I don’t get the full ninety.

I walked in today at 8:55 and I was the first one there.  I knew Laura The Tennis Pro would be late because she’d texted me from the road.  Rain, traffic, probably an accident somewhere.  She said she’d be a few minutes late.  But Marybeth was also late, and she’s always there before anyone.

Gina left me a voicemail that said something like, “I know it’s inconceivable to you, but I actually forgot about our clinic today.  But I’m on my way, just running a little behind.” 

Inconceivable doesn’t even begin to describe it.  It startles me anew every time I realize I am the only one counting the hours (from, like, Sunday) until Wednesday Clinic begins.  I know I’m not the only one having fun out there, but everyone else seems to have a certain perspective on the game that I just can’t seem to access.

I worked really hard today to stay chill today about not getting my 90 Laura-the-Tennis-Pro Minutes.  Maryanne and I played singles until Gina showed up.  Then the three of us hit for a while.  Laura didn’t get there until 10 and Marybeth bailed altogether, never showing up at all. 

Once Laura came, we played doubles until 10:30.  I tried to stay really present and make the most out of the short time we had together, and for the most part, I did. I didn’t feel like it was enough – although I never do. 

When my husband was studying for his yoga certifications, he would come home and espouse all this Buddhist banter that made me nearly insane.  “The world comes from you, not at you,” he would say.  “If you want something in your life, you have to create it first for another person.”  And, “there are no such things as accidents – we have created all of our circumstances from seeds that we’ve planted in the past.” 

I’m sure a lot of that has merit – probably even truth (with a capital T) – but it didn’t take me long to start rolling my eyes every time he said such a thing.  Yet here I am now, trying to understand why it never seems enough for me – my tennis time.  Why I constantly feel a deficit.  Why, no matter how many minutes or hours or days I’m playing, I don’t ever feel sated.  I’m sure there’s some yogic principle to explain this, but for the life of me, I don’t know what it is.