How to Australian Open
Sitting in the stands at the Australian Open, I watched a tennis rally that seemed to stretch time.
Nearly one minute passed as the players exchanged shot after shot, each return more precise and more powerful than the last. The crowd leaned forward, collectively holding its breath, each swing of the racket pulling us further into the tension. When it finally ended, the tennis ball grazing just beyond the baseline, the applause erupted with the kind of energy only a live sports moment like that can summon.
What struck me, though, was that looking at the player’s facial expressions, it wasn’t immediately clear to me who had won the point. Both wore the same expression—a blend of satisfaction and exhaustion. They shared a quiet understanding that the rally itself, not the outcome, was the real achievement. Another real life reminder for me that the journey matters more than the destination.
That moment brought me back to my own days on the court. I played tennis for nearly a decade in childhood, a few times a week with consistency. One of my clearest memories is of playing with Peter, a childhood friend. Peter was better than me—not so much better that he’d grow bored, but just enough to keep each other engaged. I could beat him only about a third of the time, but only after working harder than I thought possible.
Our matches would become a valuable life lesson for me that continues to give. Playing against Peter taught me that growth often comes from being challenged by someone better, stronger, or smarter. His skill pushed me to improve, to try hard, and to sharpen my own abilities. That lesson has stayed with me, far beyond tennis. If I find myself in a room where I’m the most skilled or knowledgeable, it’s a signal to seek out new challenges. Growth doesn’t happen in comfort. It happens in the long rallies—where effort, not ease, defines the moment.
Despite my years of playing tennis, I’ve never felt the need to pick up a racket again as an adult. Even watching Djokovic at the Australian Open, one of the greatest players of our time, didn’t stir in me any desire to return to the court. Instead, I feel a quiet peace.
Tennis had its spotlight in my life, and I’ve let it go. There’s something freeing about releasing a part of my past, not out of frustration or loss, but from a place of satisfaction. I did it. I loved it. And I’ve moved on because I feel complete.
Each year, I set a one-word intention to help guide the year and this year, my one word is inspire. While it’s still early into the new year, this intention is already shaping me. Inspire isn’t just about seeking out what moves me; it’s also about recognizing what doesn’t.
Watching the Australian Open, I wondered if this experience would inspire me to visit Wimbledon or the French Open while I’m in Europe later this year. I’ve already seen the US Open, so attending all four Grand Slam events could have been a fun challenge. But as I sat there today, watching the game unfold, I realized it didn’t inspire me. And that, too, is part of my intention. Knowing what no longer inspires me is just as valuable as discovering what does.
That long rally I witnessed today at the Australian Open wasn’t a feat of sport; it was a metaphor for my life. It reminded me that life’s greatest moments and meaning are often found in the process, the effort, and the endurance—not in the outcome. The rally is the reward.
And that is how I learned to Australian Open.
