6. suresh
At the end of April I met up with my friend, Lauren in San Diego. She was in town, pet sitting with her boyfriend, for some friends who were going on an extended vacation abroad. I met up with her for coffee and poured out every bit of detail from the past 8 months of my life to her. We walked the coastline, crashing waves backdropping her jaw drop. Then we met up with her boyfriend, Curtis and their friend Kenny for a few games of pickleball at the local community court. This was my first time playing pickleball and it was the first joyous moments I had experienced in a very long time. It was the first moment my brain began to heal. As the oxygen pumped through my veins, my ceberal cortex got to breathe for the first time in months. For a few heaps of air, there were no penetrating thoughts of despair. Just hit the ball and try not to trip again. It helped that Kenny has a glorious soul and Lauren has known me for almost 20 years now.
After pickleball, we all got lunch. Then Kenny went home. Curtis went to a barbecue. Lauren and I got italian for dinner and continued our private discussion. Afterwards, I drove back to my sister’s, caught her up over a piece of pecan pie and went to sleep.
The next time I played pickleball was at the outdoor community court with my parents and their italian friends, Flora and Dante. The next time we rented a court at Dill Dinkers but it was just my dad, Flora, Dante and I. The next time was at Dill Dinkers open play and it was just my dad, Flora and I. The three of us weren’t supposed to be on the same court but to my father’s disappointment, we were.
That’s when I met Suresh. He’s an older indian man, about 65, and he served like a mad man. Whipping them into the corners, I thought I wanna be on that guy’s team next! He almost never missed the ball but the one time he did, I told him, Suresh. You can’t miss those, come on! And he giggled as he shook his head, I know.
Eventually, Suresh left our court like all the really good players do an hour in. We watched as his soaring talents began to blend in on the 4.0 court and we each picked up the pace to cover ground in his absence. I went home that night and as I laid in bed, I thought, what a wonderful place to be.
I saw Suresh the next time I went to open play. We shared greetings from across the courts. We were no longer at the same level, he must have upped his rating based on my encouragements. This time, I played with Flora (White, 60+), Sana (Indian, 30s), Keith (Black, 20s) and Nathalie (Russian, 40s). We could hear Nathalie’s accent upon meeting but couldn’t place the descent. When Flora asked her what nationality she said “Russian... but a long time ago” and Flora joked “Well, I’m Italian, a long time ago!”
Nathalie was very good and when she took her first break, she left our court for the higher rated ones. This caused a domino effect on the higher courts and all of a sudden two older white males appeared at the corner of our court. Jason and Scott. Scott was probably a 4.0 but Jason was higher - the curve on his serves and volleys was immaculate and terribly hard to follow. He wore water shoes, a polo shirt, shorts and a backwards cap. The two of them were great sports with us lower rated players and we enjoyed the challenge of their company. I played with Scott and only lost to Jason and Flora 4-9. I felt proud to have scored a few points against the expert.
While I’m not sure I’ll be playing pickleball for the long haul it is a very enjoyable activity to pass the time. It’s a place where age and race doesn’t matter and thus, the experience is open to a wide range of energies colliding. Technically, it is a sport with a score and competition. The ego is involved but you can’t really get mad. It’ll only ever be... just a game of pickleball. In that sense, I find it meditative. The mind and body are active but the soul remains at peace.