This time last year, I was on a plane headed to my friend Greg’s wedding in Washington state.
At the time, I wrote,
“On a plane, it’s just you and the abyss. A call to oblivion. A reminder of mortality. An opportunity for salt-laden snacking.”
For me, turning thirty has been all those things. A wake up. A check in. Life smacking you square in the head with a tennis ball.
Oh jesus, life calls from across the court. Are you okay?
I’m good, really. Thanks, you mumble back as blood drips down your nose.
Life is like that though. It plays hard and fast doubles and doesn’t ease up on the serve. It slays you at the net if you’re not on your game.
So give it right back. Return slices, watch the lines. Give a heavy-handed shake after the game is done.
Wipe the blood on that white tennis skirt and hustle, always, for something more.