About insecurities

...and other traits

Let’s talk about something not very sexy. Even less sexy than flip flops (you know I’m right). Let’s talk about insecurities. I was confronted with mine last week during Laver Cup. I ran into tennis players who’d had a better career than me on a more regular basis than I run into tote bags in Greenpoint. Or Yoga pants in Williamsburg.

In a room full of tennis legends, it was blatantly obvious that I did not have the pedigree of success I was surrounded by. I thought I had overcome that notion the day a bus passed me by in Brooklyn with Serena’s face on it a day after she officially retired. Thank you, Serena. I had retired mere days earlier and I hadn’t spotted a bus with my own face on it anywhere. It was clear that some people have a face-on-bus career and others don’t. I might have been in the latter category but I had made my peace with it.

And yet, I noticed how much care I put into all my interviews I conducted with players, how diligent my preparation for every single match was, how I wrecked my brain on how to express things I saw happening in matches when analysing them during Laver Cup. I have always been an over-preparer. I admit, I lied to you in last week’s newsletter saying I went into things overconfident und underprepared. Never let the truth get in the way of a stellar one-liner is what I have to say for myself.

But this was too much, even for me. I stayed up until 2 in the morning, prepping matches, studying players’ interviews, working so hard to out-perform my peers who, in my mind, didn’t have to do all that because they had won so much more than me.

Insecurity is the feeling of not being enough. Of not having enough. To lack a thing, a quality maybe, that would make you feel equal to people around you. In the worst iteration, people overcompensate that feeling and become arrogant assholes. In the best, they create a literary masterpiece like Infinite Jest. David Foster Wallace talked about his insecurities regularly. Insecure of his tennis playing abilities, of his profuse sweating, of his depression. All of it is in Infinite Jest and the show boasting his intellect is in it, too. Both, in the end, boil down to insecurities.

this newsletter’s name may or may not be inspired by DFW

On my first day of kindergarten, I didn’t speak a word of German. My parents had come to Germany leaving behind a country that when I was born in 1987 was still called Yugoslavia. A few years later, Yugoslavia didn’t exist anymore and I didn’t speak a word of German in kindergarten. I learned the language quickly but for the longest time I couldn’t get rid of my rolling Rs. I just couldn’t for the life of me hide my Rs in my throat where German and French people seem to keep them tucked away. So, every time I said my name, Andrrrea, every time I introduced myself, I was asked where I was from, implying that I couldn’t possibly be from here.

great style, great Rs, i prrromise

Part of my success story, that will always remain a lesser success story than Serena’s or Roger’s or Boris’, has notoriously been about out-doing others in order to belong. I would speak better German than the Germans, and I would hide my Rs so well they could never be discovered, and I would have better grades in school, and I would have a tennis career, and after the tennis career was over I would have to speak better English than native-English speakers, and I would have to explain tennis better than better tennis players, and one day in the far away future, I would eventually, finally, possibly, hopefully belong. To what was unclear. A community? Germany? Major title holders?

I realised you can never belong to anything as long as you don’t give yourself permission to belong. Relax, have a beer, have a chat. Sometimes, that’s all it takes.

Insecurities are not all bad. They sometimes get stuff done. And results sometimes don’t tell the full story. What I’m trying to say is, speaking better English does not make a happier life but it makes things easier when in New York for example.

In Ernest Hemingway’s The Old Man and the Sea a fisherman downtrodden by life, in old age and possibly his last outing onto the sea, catches the biggest marlin he has ever caught. After he fights it for three days admiring the marlin’s strength and dignity, the fish finally succumbs to the old man’s efforts. The old man has won. On the way back to the shore, sharks eat the marlin down to the very last piece of bone. The old man fought heroically, won triumphantly and lost it all again in a blink of an eye. Some read the story as defeat, I personally never did. Sometimes, victory lies not in having won but in having tried, despite all odds. It’s always been one of my favourite books. Now more than ever.

darlin’ marlin’, where you’ve gone?

Adulthood does not only make you understand Hemingway it also helps in hiding insecurities in the same cave where the rolling Rs are. May they roll around forever.

Looking back at last week, although it was stressful, I enjoyed being insecure again. It reminded me of what once was and how far I’ve come. And it kept me in check. To tell the entire truth of the story: I don’t only try so hard because I’m insecure. I also try hard because I really enjoy kicking ass.

This time, I told the tale of insecurity. Next time, it will be another one.

Things that make me happy:

I started watching Mad Men just a few days ago. The suits, the cigarettes, the scotch for breakfast - it’s all very stylish. At first, I thought I could do without the sexism but it actually makes me appreciate all the women that came before us even more. Our mothers and grandmothers and our Billie Jean Kings. Thank you for your service.

Things that make me unhappy:

I know they are practical but backpacks on trains should be forbidden unless they are tucked safely between people’s legs. You knocked over five people looking for your friend, Brad! We owe it to our fellow train riders to create the most space possible in an already crammed waggon.

May the streets be empty, and the trains backpack free - at least for a weekend. See you all next week.

Yours truly, Andrea