What Keeps Them Going?

What watching tennis champions taught me about writing

Fellipe Ditadi for Unsplash+

I am a tennis addict, though more watching than playing these days as I nurse a knee back to health. One aspect of watching the game’s greatest players fascinates me. They somehow find a way to win matches that, as a spectator, you’re certain they’ve already lost.

This was true with Roger Federer, Rafael Nadal, and Novak Djokovic, Serena Williams, and, new to this elite club, Jannik Sinner. What do they possess that enables them, against all odds, to take matches they seem sure to lose?

Since I’ve played club tennis, with far less pressure and no crowds watching me, and still I’ve crumbled in those tense super-tiebreaker moments, I’ve often wondered what they have that I don’t?

I sometimes choose a different angle when I consider this question. I remember champions who left or took a break because the pressure of winning infringed on their mental health. My mind takes me to Naomi Osaka. Osaka stepped away from the French Open in 2021 amidst what seemed to be a mental collapse. We were later to learn that she wasn’t quitting tennis. She was leaving the game to make more tennis possible in her future.

There are countless other players — Björn Borg, Madison Keys, Marty Fish, and so many more — who similarly suffered anxiety and had to find their formula for managing it in the best way possible. In reading about these champions, their answers vary — deep breathing, managing social media consumption, reminding yourself you are more than your game, and more. It is, no doubt, difficult, but they’ve shown us there are ways.

Why a competitive mindset should interest many

Tennis for me has become a fun spectator sport with some modest amount of play. This means I don’t watch the tennis greats in hopes of imitating them — at least on the court. I watch them with my writing in mind.

I know that being simultaneously chill and focused, with the confidence to say “I got this,” will matter in whatever endeavors we take seriously.

For me, it’s about successfully extending my fictional series, and not despairing about where I will find my readers. Finding readers has the potential to make me feel like I’m serving at match point against Novak Djokovic — if I let it. The consultant in me can’t help bringing data into the conversation. I know, for example, that the average adult will read between two and four books a year.

How will I make one of those selective picks mine?

This is when my mind returns to Roger Federer, staying mentally strong and bringing home a trophy. For me, a trophy will be publishing my fourth book in the Alfred series and finding some number of devoted readers who want to keep reading my work.

“I think I can. I think I can. I think I can,” says the little engine that could.

But to do that, I need to find my own source of fuel so that I persevere and stay positive. After that, I will remember that much is out of my control, and serendipity is always at play.

What will be, will be.

Hemingway’s Lesson

I realize that my focus on the tennis champions is my attempt to engineer my best possible outcome. Is there something of theirs that I can copy? Will I be able to push forward long enough so that hopefully good things can happen?

That’s when my mind takes me to Ernest Hemingway. He is my “Exhibit A” of someone who persevered long enough for a great outcome. Hemingway was in a profound ten-year slump after publishing For Whom the Bell Tolls. Well, hopefully his next novel would change his course — those were probably his thoughts. He then published Across the River and Into the Trees, and it was universally panned. Predictably, this threw Hemingway into even deeper despair.

What did Hemingway do next? He set about writing Old Man and the Sea, which is often viewed as an allegory about Hemingway’s writing career. Two years later, it was published and won the Pulitzer. The book was slim in size and modest in its tone and language, but its success was huge.

The mind of a champion

From these assorted random thoughts, I realize my fascination with the tennis champions is really about how we show up every day to do our best and push through our darkest moments. Whatever the outcome, we should be able to rest comfortably, knowing we’ve given it our all.

I know it is hard, if not impossible, to predict success. The best thing we can do is show up to the plate and keep swinging. After that, anything goes.

I’ve taken comfort in realizing that we most likely won’t have our version of Old Man and the Sea with a Pulitzer awaiting, but there are other gifts that await. We can find meaning in the process and be proud of our strength to push forward. Ordinary people can often surprise themselves.

That’s what I believe my next protagonist is learning with me. As I’ve been writing Lucy’s story, I’ve begun to realize she’s wrestling with the same question I am.

Where do ordinary people find the emotional strength to keep going when success is uncertain?

I will introduce you to Lucy when her story is complete.

And… that would also be mine.