I recently played squash with a 30-something at the Portland Squash Club, something I stumbled upon on a whim.
A few weeks earlier, I mentioned in passing to my partner, “I used to play squash.” “Really, so did I. Let’s play!” came his reply. So after more than 35 years of not picking up a racket, we both pranced into the synagogue-turned-squash-club-slash-community-center, grabbed one of the free rackets and protective eyewear, and started hitting the ball around. It was a blast! We missed 50% of the shots, but the ones we hit were satisfying. And every once in a while, I made a shot, not exactly planned, that sent him running. This was even more satisfying. We were mostly just playing for fun, trying to extend the volley for as long as possible. When the back-and-forth topped ten, we needed to stop for a breather and recover. “That’s good,” said he, the former soccer player/coach. “You’re getting an anaerobic workout.” Good to know I had at least ten in me. “OK, we quit when we hit eight shots in a row, three times,” came his challenge. “You’re on!” said I. Rather than scoring points, our goal was to hit it so our partner could return it, which trust me, is still a challenge. I call it Cooperative Squash.
After another few times in the court, solo and together, it all started coming back—the hard shot up the side, the soft, short shot in the front, the serve. The good news is that the balls are bouncier and the rackets bigger, so the shots that always used to drop like a stone or go straight through my small, round racket are much easier to return. “This is brilliant,” thought I. “I’m sweating and having fun.” As I’ve been wanting to amp up my exercise routine in retirement, I couldn’t have been happier to have rediscovered this feeling of exhaustion and exhilaration in one swell foop.
Since my partner is departing for parts unknown, leaving open, at a minimum, a squash partner, I signed up for the “Box League,” as recommended by the enthusiastic female coach at the club. I scheduled myself at the first opportunity for a match at 7 pm, admittedly not my best time. Having been assigned to the next-to-lowest box, I figured surely it would be a more or less even match. Not so. It was a rout. I was royally creamed in three games that took all of fifteen minutes, returning only two of her serves and gaining the serve only twice when she fumbled. Despite her occasional words of encouragement, it was truly depressing. I was back in junior high school when my ineptitude at sports caused me to retreat into photography, math team, and drama.
Without realizing it, I had inadvertently committed myself to five matches a month in which the top two winners advance to the next box and the bottom two losers are demoted to the lower box, in my case, the lowest. I found myself writing the box coordinator:
“I was not aware of what was involved in joining a “box.” Have you seen Barbie? Like her, I’m not too fond of being put into a box of any kind.”
“This is how these types of competitive leagues work,” my partner explained. Having played in the country’s largest amateur soccer league for years, he recounted the correlation between promotion/demotion and drinking: the individuals in teams that were promoted stayed healthy and fit while those on teams that were demoted became heavy drinkers. I found myself asking whether “healthy competition” is really healthy or a sure-fire way to fuel lack of self-esteem.
I don’t like competition, in any form. It encourages the “comparing mind” and labeling, where the winner is better than me at <fill in the blank>, which feels bad, and the loser is worse than you at <fill in the blank>, which feels bad. If you’re the loser, that’s one side of the same coin. Of course, I suppose the idea is that the “loser” is supposed to be “motivated” to “work hard” at “improving” and thereby become a “winner.”
Ooofff! That’s a lot of identification and effort that I for one want no part of! I’ve spent a whole lot of my later life endeavoring to dis-identify with labels, accept myself and others as we are, use discernment to choose what feels aligned with my authentic self, and promote that in my life and in the world. Frankly, I’ve been doing a pretty good job of it of late. Until the squash match.
All that said, the flip side of not wanting to compete or label is an ongoing feeling of “lack of accomplishment.” Having officially retired at the beginning of the year, I’m supremely busy with what I call “reinventing myself.” No longer tethered to a computer for hours of the day, I’m free to explore like a child. This often doesn’t feel like I’m accomplishing much. Yet, this morning’s journal entry had me recounting all the things I’ve done (accomplished?) over the past few months since returning home from living on a sailboat for two years (yes, that was an accomplishment!) so I could take it all in. And there was a lot there.
As such, part of my reinvention is the process of actively discovering, uncovering, and recovering what feeds my soul. Connecting with and supporting friends and family—including a new granddaughter—feels important. Allowing, trusting, and making time for my inner sense of wisdom to flow outwardly also feels important—witness, this blog. Exploring my creativity in ways that I haven’t had time to previously is up there. And prioritizing my physical well-being has become increasingly important—witness the calendar I now have on my fridge that tracks how many times I actually move my body each week.
One of my intentions of late is to “live the questions,” per Rilke, so I continually ask myself, “Am I stuck on the notion of accomplishment out of conditioning or is it something I truly desire?” Yes. “Is it externally or internally motivated, or both? Yes. “What does real accomplishment actually look and feel like anyway?” I’ll know it when I feel it. And sometimes I do.
Which brings me to this moment in time. Of course, my higher self knows that now is my opportunity to feel accomplished, or call it satisfied, or better yet content, or let’s try on happy, at peace, or bliss. Yes, that feels good, as a smile creeps across my face. And I am reminded once again of the Tao:
“Contentment that derives from knowing when to be content is eternal contentment.”
—Tao Te Ching
I guess I’ll stick it out in the box league for the month and then go back to hitting the ball around myself and inviting friends to play Cooperative Squash. Wanna play, with emphasis on the word play?
Surrender to the Abundance 