Chapter 1. Embrace the Suck: Shut Up, Listen, and Learn.
Who here hasn’t watched a tennis match and thought, ‘That looks simple enough—just hit the ball
over the net, right?’ Wrong. It’s way harder than it looks. See what we’ve seen from the greats is
years and years of intense practice and coaching but the reality of the situation is, there’s a method to
the madness that is tennis. There’s technique and technique is something you have to be taught.
From how to hold your racket. Did you know there’s something about how the grip has 8 turns or
something and these turns have names? Imagine my bewilderment when I’m holding the racket in a
way that feels natural to me but it’s absolutely wrong. My forehand is completely out of order and I’m
barely hitting the ball over the net. Coach Carl screamed a million times from across the net, “Change
your grip”. In my head I’m like, how the hell do you even know that it’s wrong! Anyway grip changed,
game improved and that’s the lesson isn’t it, I don’t know everything about tennis and the little bit I do
know, isn’t enough to make me an expert. The first thing I learnt in tennis is to shut up, be quiet,
humble and attentive. I had to be willing to be taught. To neglect all I thought I knew and submit to a
higher authority who knew much much more than I did. For context, my coach has been playing
tennis for over 15 years and had been coaching for nearly as long. He’s great at his craft, so much so
that he was based in Sudan for a few years teaching tennis. He’s amazing. Now imagine me walking
in proud and arrogant with my tv watching experience and assuming I knew something. That would
have been a horrible start. I became teachable. Even if it seemed obvious and mundane and
redundant, I was teachable . I let coach mold me like clay. The philosophy here is, you and I don’t
know everything in this life and at some point we have to take our lesson from someone else. Be
humble enough to be taught. Listen, no one wants to suck or loss or look bad or be bad. Whose ego
and pride would let them? The answer is no one. No one is willing to be bad at all. I bet we all wish
we’d try something and be magically great at it. I mean you could be naturally talented and if that’s
you, please by all means skip this chapter your-holy-must-be-nice-to-be-God’s-favorite-ness (you
can’t tell but I’m rolling my eyes at you right now). The point I’m trying to bring across here is that we
all started off sucking at something (no pun intended) and it takes sometime, hard work and
determination to get good at something. Now that you understand that why is it then so hard to give
yourself the grace to be a beginner. To stumble a few times , to remember it takes time and you won’t
get it right.
The very first thing I learned in tennis was to shut up, be quiet, humble myself, and listen. I had to be
willing to learn. To unlearn what I thought I knew and submit to a higher authority—someone who had
walked this path before me. My coach has been playing for over 15 years and coaching for nearly as
long. He’s so good at his craft that he even spent years teaching tennis in Sudan. And here I was,
waltzing in with my TV-watching experience, thinking I had a clue? That would’ve been a terrible start.
I mean who here hasn’t watched a tennis match and thought, “That looks simple enough—just hit the
ball over the net, right?” Wrong. It’s way harder than it looks.
What we see from the greats—years of intense practice and coaching—makes it seem effortless. But
the reality is, there’s a method to the madness that is tennis. There’s technique. And technique isn’t
something you just figure out—it’s something you have to be taught.
Take the grip, for example. Did you know a tennis racket handle has eight bevels, each with a name?
Imagine my confusion when I was holding the racket in a way that felt completely natural to me, only
to be told I was doing it all wrong. My forehand was a disaster (you already know this), and I could
barely get the ball over the net. From across the court, Coach Carl must have screamed “Change
your grip!” at least a million times. And all I could think was, How the hell do you even know that it’s
wrong from all the way over there?!
But guess what? I adjusted my grip, and—shockingly—my game improved. And that’s the lesson, isn’t
it? I don’t know everything about tennis, and the little I do know isn’t enough to make me an expert.
So, I choked on a large piece of humble pie and became teachable. Even when something seemed
obvious, mundane, or redundant—I listened. I let my coach mold me like clay.
You and I don’t know everything, and at some point, in life, we must be willing to learn from someone
else. To be humble enough to be taught. That’s easy when we are kids are we are already in a
learning environment, but things do change as we grow older and leave the classroom. We all tend to
be insufferable know it alls driven by our egos and pride. The truth is: no one wants to suck at
something. No one enjoys losing or looking bad. Our pride won’t let us. We all wish we could try
something new and magically be great at it.
And hey, maybe you are one of those naturally gifted people. If that’s the case, congratulations—
please skip this chapter, your holy-it-must-be-nice-to-be-God’s-favourite self (you can’t see it, but I’m
rolling my eyes at you).
But for the rest of us, learning takes time. It takes effort, patience, and the willingness to be bad
before we get good.
So, why is it so hard to give yourself the grace to be a beginner? Why do we expect ourselves to
immediately get it right? On a personal note, I wish I knew then that it’s also okay to suck in front of an
audience. You’re going to stumble. You’re going to get things wrong. And that’s okay.
The sooner you accept that, the easier the journey becomes.
When I first set foot on the court for my first lesson having accumulated years of watching match
experience from YouTube shorts, I had a false sense of confidence which leaned heavily on I have
watched enough and I am certain I won’t be as bad as I was before.
I don’t know everything about tennis, and the little I do know isn’t enough to make me an
expert. The truth is: no one wants to suck at something. No one enjoys losing or looking bad.
Our pride won’t let us. We all wish we could try something new and magically be great at it. I
certainly had a chip on my shoulder. You and I don’t know everything. At some point, we
have to be willing to learn from someone else. To be humble enough to be taught. That’s
easy when we’re kids in a learning environment, but things change as we grow older and
leave the classroom. We all tend to become insufferable know-it-alls, driven by our egos and
pride.
And hey, maybe you’re one of those naturally gifted people. If that’s the case,
congratulations—please skip this chapter, your holy-it-must-be-nice-to-be-God’s-favourite
self (you can’t see it, but I’m rolling my eyes at you).
But for the rest of us, learning takes time. It takes effort, patience, and the willingness to be
bad before we get good.
The very first thing I learned in tennis was to shut up, be quiet, humble myself, and listen. I
had to be willing to learn—unlearn what I thought I knew including my trauma-based
limitations—and submit to a higher authority: someone who had walked this path before me.
My coach has been playing for over 15 years and coaching for nearly as long. He’s so good
at his craft that he even spent years teaching tennis in Sudan. Though, I mean, who hasn’t
watched a tennis match and thought, “That looks simple enough—just hit the ball over the
net, right?” Wrong. It’s way harder than it looks.
Imagine, waltzing in with recently acquired TV-watching education, thinking I had a
somewhat of a clue?
What we see from the greats—years of intense practice and coaching—makes it seem
effortless. But the reality is, there’s a method to the madness that is tennis. There’s
technique. And technique isn’t something you just figure out on your own—it’s something
you must be taught.
Take the grip, for example. Did you know a tennis racket handle has eight bevels, each with
a name? Imagine my confusion when I was holding the racket in a way that felt completely
natural and comfortable to me, only to be told I was doing it all wrong. My forehand was a
disaster (you already know this), and I could barely get the ball over the net. From across the
court, Coach Carl must have screamed, “Change your grip!” at least a million times. And all I
could think was, “How the hell do you even know that it’s wrong from all the way over
there?!?” So, I choked on a large piece of humble pie and became teachable. Even when
something seemed obvious, mundane, or redundant, I listened. I let my coach mould me like
clay.
I adjusted my grip, and—shockingly—my game improved. And that’s the lesson, isn’t it? It
could have been adjusting out of my comfort zone, but I am afraid you will need to wait for
the sequel for that tidbit.
So, why is it so hard to give yourself the grace to be a beginner? Why do we expect
ourselves to immediately get it right? On a personal note, I wish I knew back then that it’s
okay to suck in front of an audience. You’re going to stumble. You’re going to get things
wrong. And that’s okay.
The sooner you accept that, the easier the journey becomes.