Practice Makes Perfect

Or at least the saying goes.

I played another practice set with the same girl today, and was astonished by how the same mistakes seemed to surface--albeit to a lesser degree.  The double faults were still there, the slow reaction after serving.  The lack of anticipation or any trace of that dexterous fighting spirit I know I have inside me.

In particular, after a 1-6 ordeal, the defeatist experience (and its seeming repetition) got me wary.  I was spending wayy too much time fighting myself instead of my opponent.  More disturbingly, I realised that the root of this self-sabotage came from something much deeper:

I've been suckered into that ominous mentality.  The one we more commonly know as the instant-noodle syndrome.

Fast.  Yes.  That's right.  I want to improve fast.  Fast, fast, FAST!

"Fast?"  I thought to myself.  "Shit."

More like frightening.

Not that there's anything particularly wrong with meteoric improvement.  But improvement itself is never contrived.  On the contrary, it is entirely natural.  To expect it, is being plain twisted.

So no, Sarah.  No.  Do a quick side-step.  Pause.  Re-route the myelin of thought.  Overhaul that mentality.

Instead of frustration, I walked off court today thinking about my approach--the very thing that was leading to my frustration.  As my pastor preached once, there's no such thing as something or someone "making" you feel angry. Or disappointed.  Or sad.  Too often, we use the excuse "s/he made me really angry" or "s/he is making me lose my time" to blame circumstances. But think about it.  It doesn't make sense.

It's not like someone has a buttoned remote labelled "Angry."

INSTRUCTIONS:
Press once to make SP angry.  Press twice to make SP very very angry.

No.  It is we who let ourselves get angry.  Frustrated.  Disappointed.  And the letting, obviously stems from the perspectives we take to situations.

As my soles crunched against beads of soil, I wondered if the root of my exasperation--or poor play, for that matter--came because of my perspective: was I setting my standards too high?  Was it because I believed I could be a better player, that I let that very self-belief become debilitating pressure?

Ironically, that pursuit of perfection created an expectation that ironically embedded my frustrations further.

I know I can play better.  And at a faster rate.  I am hungry for improvement.  For change.  I believe I can concentrate stronger.  React faster.  Hit cleaner.  But therein hidden within that knowledge, is the equal paradox.  That controlling self-belief has to just stop at some point, and I have to learn how to let go.

Let go, let it flow.

Sometimes, that really is the hardest thing to do.