A TIME TO RESET
Missing the daily urgency that once felt so stressful
There’s a lot to admire about tennis phenom Ashleigh (Ash) Barty. For starters, the 25-yearold Australian is the top-ranked women’s singles player in the world — a total class act who wins without resorting to the noisy histrionics of lesser-ranked players.
Also, despite being on the short side for top-rank tennis, she’s got a killer serve.
But what is truly inspiring about Ash is her ability to reset. As an 18-year-old, with tremendous success as a junior, she made what many considered to be the crazy decision to leave tennis and play professional cricket. Two years later, she reset again and returned to the court.
Even her recent first-round Olympic defeat isn’t likely to upset her for long. She has the uncanny ability to make her way back one point, one set, one match at a time.
I’ve been thinking about Ash a lot lately because I’m in the middle of a reset.
Almost a year ago, I retired from a 30-year career in journalism. While that’s not the same as being forced to retire in the second round at Roland Garros due to a hip injury, it’s definitely in reset territory, at least for regular folk.
Retirement is about being able to do whatever you want and then having to decide what it is you want.
It’s having all the time in the world and coming face to face with the clock as it ticks deliberately through the day.
When I retired as a feature writer with the Edmonton Journal, it was for all the right reasons. All of my friends had left the business and once COVID-19 shuttered the newsroom, even casual colleagues disappeared.
My dad needed help with my mom. My husband and I wanted to travel while our health was still good.
While I don’t regret the decision, there is nonetheless something about retirement — especially in the midst of a paralyzing pandemic — that makes me squirm.
It’s not a lack of activities. My husband and I are passionate about playing and watching tennis. Now that restrictions have eased, we are giddy with the cocktails and dinner parties.
It’s a thrill to be spontaneous — to take a last-minute trip to my brother’s cottage or hop on our bikes for a cruise through the river valley. Lingering over tea and two newspapers every morning has yet to get old.
What is challenging about this time of life is not a paucity of choices, but a lack of urgency about any of them.
During our working lives, especially if we are parents of youngsters, urgent is the go-to. There is always a meal to make, a child to ferry to hockey. These activities not only propel us forward, they give meaning to the effort.
In my first year of not working, I tried to find meaning outside the newsroom. COVID made that difficult; we weren’t able to even see our grandchildren, some of whom live in faraway cities.
I was quickly humbled when my pitch for a major writing project was met with a dispiriting lack of interest. Likewise with my application to a non-profit board. Hmmm.
Relax, people said. Enjoy. And I do both of those things. But life, as I have known it, is about movement. There is no growth without change, no narrative without tension.
My husband said something recently that made me think hard about life in my 60s. I was writing an essay for a contest and fussing about all the other people who were also applying that would be so much better than me.
“But writing this essay is not just about winning the contest,” he said. “Just like practising your serve is about more than landing every ball in the service box.”
Indeed, the challenge of this stage is to recognize that life is no longer about reacting to the immediate — making sure the children are both well fed and well loved, connecting with that critical source in time to meet the deadline. It’s about process. It’s about finesse.
When watching Ash Barty prepare to serve, I ponder her ability to reset — in her life and during every game. I like to pretend to be inside her head as she bounces the ball in a kind of meditation.
While she glances across the net as she draws strength for the serve, her focus is not on the other player. All previous shots — the winners and the losers — are behind her now. Ash takes a breath, makes the toss. And leaps.