Being Single as a Tennis Match

Being single is like a tennis match*. Some games are hard, an absolute grind. Though you know you have the support of fans behind the fence**, and you hear the guidance of your coach, you want nothing more than to look someone directly in the eye, one foot in front of you, and hear them tell you, “You got this. Let’s go,” in a voice that embraces you with confidence. After you nail a winner, you want to turn to that partner, feel the touch of the hand as you high five, and share that moment of victory.

But then there are times you’re on the court, and everything’s clicking. Your strokes are flawless, your placement is perfection, and in those moments, you’re content you’re alone on the court – even grateful you don’t have to carry a teammate and have the freedom to focus only on your game. You don’t need a high five. Your own fist pump is more than enough.

I still have some time before work, so last week, I decided to take a solo trip. I could have stayed in Seattle and stopped hemorrhaging money, but that seemed silly. Plus, I made myself a promise when I decided to move: I was going to absorb the most I could that Washington and the Pacific Northwest have to offer. What better time to start than the present?

I booked myself a log cabin in the Cascades, complete with a jacuzzi bathtub, a glorious bed that tempted one to stay in all day, and a porch surrounded by nothing but the rustling of the forest leaves and the rushing river.

The week was lovely, a perfect reset – that is, after the first night in which I could barely sleep because I was anxiously planning all the relaxing I needed to do.

I went kayaking. I learned that two cans of wine are equal to one bottle, which was a sad realization as I was paddling away on the lake, contemplating opening the second can. You see, drinking two cans of beer does not seem excessive, but drinking a bottle of wine seems a bit much. On the other hand, if you just re-frame drinking a bottle of wine as drinking two cans, maybe it doesn’t sound as bad. I decided to refrain, mostly because I didn’t want to fall asleep in my kayak and wake up toppling into water like Ann of Green Gables.

I hiked a peak, my first in Washington, talking to myself most of the time, plotting the next steps in my world takeover.*** I used a walking stick, not for the utility, but because it makes me feel like Moses. Segue… I only experienced one hiccup when I got confused about where the trail was so began scaling the side of the waterfall, lamenting the fact that my shoes didn’t have better grip. After roughly 50 feet, I realized I just had to cross the stream at the bottom. I don’t know if I’m in worse shape than I was in Virginia – well, that’s not true, I know I am – or if it’s because the mountains are bigger, but it was a great workout.

I talked to others as well. The couple who built the log cabin after a lifetime in the city and treated me to a home cooked meal, tea, and cookies. The woman who moved from Seattle to pour wine when life there just got a bit too busy. The young server who left Seattle last winter, worked at a ski resort, and learned to ski because it was something new. Those stories always encourage me, because they’re about people who did something rather than just talking about it.

I went antiquing. O my goodness - I love antiques! This may be very dangerous, and if there were more antique stores near me, I’d have an apartment resembling a funhouse, filled with gold mirrors, mismatched tea cups, and garden gnomes. It would be beautiful.

I sat at a vineyard, sipping Cabernet, in a lodge, sipping a latte, on the patio in the most precious German town this side of Munich, sipping a beer. I sipped so many things! I listened to music, the kind that makes you happy nostalgic about the past and whimsically excited about the future, cozied up and read by the fire, spent hours searching for the perfect dining room painting and living room rug. I found them.

And in those moments by myself, contemplating whether or not I should drink the second can of wine, I gathered those small pieces of myself that had been hiding the past months. The pieces that knew I was strong, that knew I was adventurous and energetic. Those pieces that enjoyed her own company.

On the occasions I talk about being single to you, I often do it in the context of wanting to look someone directly in the eye, wanting to feel the touch of someone’s high five. It’s equally important to acknowledge those times when your own fist pump is more than enough.


* A singles tennis match, obviously.
** Roughly two in the case of D-3 tennis.
*** More to come on that.