Backhand Complement
A little more than one week into the new year and our resolutions for 2022 have, I suspect, been filed in waste cans and buried among forgotten memories. Admittedly, some were never destined to sustain more than a momentary interest. Others were given a sincere effort, only to be abandoned in the crush of the intrusions and preoccupations that so fill our days. Nonetheless there is some good that comes in goal setting each January, or during Lent, or on a special birthday or anniversary, even if few of our transformational ambitions ever gain enough traction to become life-altering commitments.
So what was it for you this year? Did you resolve to…
· lose or gain weight, or stop doing either?
· be a nicer person?
· make peace and mend fences with __________?
· assume more self-control over a destructive habit?
· start exercising, reading more, writing letters to old friends?
· stop vegging out on TV, video games and social media gossip?
· step away from your phone for at least _____ minutes each day?
Our self-improvement lists are as unique to us as they are ephemeral. Perhaps one or more of our goals will ultimately reach that summit of fruition to grant us a degree of satisfaction at having fulfilled its life-altering aspirations. And maybe we will enjoy a fleeting, or lasting pride in now looking or feeling better, or in regaining a measure of self-control we feared we had lost.
During my years working with young people in schools I had many opportunities to speak to them about making resolutions to improve their lives or reset their future possibilities. Sometimes my conversations took place when they were beginning a new semester, trying to find their way in a new school, or brooding over the great unknown ahead of them in college. Each of these transitory moments forced them to work through the discomforts of starting over, which most find a bit daunting. It was my job to guide them in putting their insecurities and trepidations aside so that they might discover how necessary and good it can be to reinvent oneself and forge a new identity around constructive goals.
Among the students with whom I worked were starry-eyed athletes intoxicated by the promise of college and pro careers delivered by coaches and recruiters. My cautionary advice about not putting all of their eggs in one sports’ basket-- especially one held together by the strength of a knee ligament—was as unwelcomed as it was sobering. And then there were the kids who were frustrated by subjects they found too difficult and demanding. Why didn’t they have teachers who knew how to teach? If only the school didn’t make them take courses that were so stupid and irrelevant to their plans. In trying to help the jocks and the underachievers find some good reason to make academics a priority, I often relied on an analogy that I hoped would penetrate the veneer of their diffidence. Building on their affinity for sports, I made a comparison to which I hoped they could relate, carry with them, and apply in a purposeful way: tennis.
Now I don’t pretend to ever have been anything more than an average tennis player. I never touched a racket until college, and never mustered the drive and perseverance needed to develop my modest abilities beyond that of a novice. Yet over the years I played a fair number of games that gave me a pretty good feel for what I could—and couldn’t—do on a court. Tennis is a fairly straightforward game of hitting a fuzzy projectile over a net, rewarding those who can do so accurately and with good pace on the ball. Since the playing surface is something like 20 by 30 feet in size, it means you have to be willing and able to move quickly in order to reach a ball on your left or right, well in front of or even far behind you. Being right handed, it is far easier for me to hit a ball on that side of my body. In a real game, however, balls often come to my left side, making it imperative that I know how to use a backhand stroke. Sad to say, my swings from that side are often weak, soft and inaccurate. It is no surprise, then, that I much prefer hitting from the right side where I’m strongest.
Whether I’m in a friendly or cutthroat competition, my right-handed preference becomes glaringly obvious to my opponents. If they are any good, and are intent on beating me, they will try to hit the ball to my left side, forcing me to use my backhand. Since I tend to flub returns from that side more often than not, their success is assured as long as they can exploit this weakness in my game. On occasion I try to counter their strategy by frenetically running side-to-side in pursuit of the ball, all in an effort to return everything with my forehand. But that quickly proves an exercise in futility as I wear myself out trying to overcompensate for my insufficient backhand. Suffice it to say, tennis has taught me a painful and frustrating lesson, but one with broader implications: you won’t last long in the game of life if you have no backhand.
Such ambidexterity (or something akin to it) is essential in other sporting ventures as well. You can’t play basketball at a high level unless you can control the ball with both hands. You won’t be good at soccer if you can’t dribble and shoot with both feet. I suspect the same can be said in most if not all sports involving fast moving spheroids. And it carries over into life beyond sports too, as I often tried to convey to my students laboring over important but difficult decisions in their lives.
Each of us has something we really like to do, a favorite pastime or preoccupation that makes the time we give to it both rewarding and fun. I’d go so far as to say that every one of us is endowed with one or more talents, interests or passions which are uniquely our own. These, you might say, are like our forehand in tennis. They are traits and aptitudes we never tire of practicing and perfecting. To the degree that we excel in these abilities, we may appear gifted or unusually blessed. Yet if we wait long enough, or advance very far into realms where unusual skill and excellence determine whether or not we will be accepted, hired or qualify to compete—we will discover that talent and potential alone are not enough. It is then that we may realize that we need more than a good forehand to stay in the game. We need to have an alternative competence to complement and balance our other strengths. Failing that, we will appear to our competitors and judges as being overmatched and ill suited to be on the same court with those whose game is more complete than our own.
The point I tried to make with my students, and the focus of the resolutions I tried to encourage them to embrace, is that few of us who aspire to success will reach our goals with one-dimensional aptitudes and attitudes. In tennis terms, we must have a reliable backhand that we can call upon when we can’t reach the ball with our forehand—an alternative skill set that complements, enlarges and enhances our overall abilities. With it we will have the best chance to address and return most anything hit our way. Without it, we will not be able to play as long, or as well, as our more obvious talents alone can ensure.
In thinking about the blank slate of 2022 upon which all of us will write our stories, I am certain I will fill it doing the things I most enjoy and can accomplish with the most ease. But at the same time I realize that I better give equal time—perhaps even more time—to working on those things that don’t come easily to me or provide me with instant gratification. For in life as in tennis, my ultimate success and happiness depends on how much I attend to addressing my skill deficiencies, my character liabilities and my personality quirks—my backhand if you will—that I’ll need to improve if I hope to stay in the game this year.
