Inconvenient Investments

Two personal decisions that made a huge difference in my life

Unsplash+:In collaboration with Jason Hawke

I was 36, had just had my third kid, felt out of shape, was low on side interests, and needed something new (besides a cute, screaming baby).

I landed on tennis. I was going to develop a tennis game. How big a deal could that be?

Not so big, I reasoned. That was until I arrived at the beginners’ clinic and saw everyone dressed in some version of appropriate tennis wear. Some wore skirts where they could somehow tuck the ball by their thigh.

Me? I was wearing an oversized fuchsia long cotton top and a pair of cotton shorts that ended at the knee and was held up with an elastic waistband. The mama-shorts did have big pockets useful for balls. Out of place much?

Well, maybe I would have my racquet speak for me. Except that I couldn’t. Even if I fancied myself as moderately athletic, I was still chasing a lot of yellow balls for way too many clinics before I developed some proficiency.

So began my journey to develop a tennis game. It was important to me for some reason, and I did not give up. I spent a lot of money over the years on clinics and lessons, and I consciously never tallied the cost. It would have been some ghastly amount that I reasoned we were better off not knowing.

I figured that by the time we might have extra cash around for me to comfortably invest in my game, I would be too old to pick it up and would have lost the opportunity.

We can sometimes justify our decisions through some thoughtful rationale, but for me, it came down to a passion that I could not squelch. Eventually, I joined an indoor club for the winter. After that, I joined a women’s tennis league. By then, I was wearing skirts that held balls, and I looked like I belonged.

Why did I feel the need? It went something like, “I need an outlet and a sign that I, myself, am worth investing in.”

My family supported my inconvenient investment, which helped me not to feel guilty. I still worked but rewarded myself with new friends who also chased a yellow ball and played team tennis.

To this day, I love and play the game (28 years now). I am glad I stuck with my inconvenient investment.

My second inconvenient investment

For years, I’ve been sneaking in my writing when I can. It hasn’t been so bad. Whenever I found a new client, I’d say to myself, “Oh good, I can write in my spare time and not worry about chasing down some work.”

When I turned 60, I made the inconvenient decision to up my time writing, knowing it might come at the expense of paying clients. I reasoned that I am only getting older, and there is a novel series in me that I want to get out, even though it might be read by only a handful of people. For some reason, it didn’t diminish my passion to write.

Besides, I reminded myself, “You’re also writing for the next generation. When you have grandkids (God willing), they will love reading you.”

I made this decision with the same conviction that I took up the game of tennis. Sometimes, you just gotta do what you gotta do. I still have a consulting practice that helps subsidize my hobby, but I don’t fool myself. I’ve taken my foot off the gas peddle that went ka-ching.

Today, so many displaced workers have rebranded themselves as consultants that to succeed in business requires a singular focus.

But, I remind myself, “You are 66. You only need some work because you are making an inconvenient investment in yourself in the form of writing.”

And that’s how it goes. I’ve made two decisions that my family supports. I’ve allowed myself to make these decisions knowing that both inconvenient investments have cost me some benjamins.

But some things are more important than money. If I am successful at getting my next novel launched, which will come after my first, I will take particular comfort in knowing that this is what it took to live my dream. And after that, I envision a third book. Maybe what I have is an inconvenient ambition.

Inconvenient investments may be just that, but they are also important in scripting our lives. If you have made one, I’d love to hear what kind and how you feel about it.

If I had one word to describe how I feel, it would be “justified.” How about you?