I played pickleball today for the first time in years. The mechanics are still there. The muscle-memory. The precise positioning. My dinking is as present as it’s ever been. The muscles remember how to position the ball precisely.
As darkness had already arrived, the four of us played a tiny game: serve cross-court; play points normally, but only the kitchen is in. The lights near the court made the game barely playable. But play we did.
Only it didn’t feel like play. I wasn’t light. Wasn’t airy. Wasn’t childish with clown-like play. I cared about winning. I tensed up.
The game-players want to win, yes, sure. But they’re light. Graceful. Acrobatic. Clean. Gentle. Precise. Open.
Between my last pickleball play and today, I attended clown school. My friends tell me I’m much funnier. That humor comes from bringing joy to them instead of merely bringing joy to myself.
Now, ‘tis time to expand that play – that gentle, airy, light, friendly play – to other areas as well.
Like pickleball.
A game which shares its name with a fermented vegetable.
How silly.
Julian Wise 