Eighty Years, One Day at a Time

Eighty Years, One Day at a Time

Today I turned 80.  This post is more personal and reflective than usual. It marks a milestone both in my life and in world history.

It’s not a number I ever imagined myself reaching when I first picked up a racquet. But here I am — grateful, humbled, and a little in awe of the passage of time.

August 6 holds a strange double meaning for me. It’s my birthday, yes, but it’s also the anniversary of the atomic bomb dropped on Hiroshima in 1945 — a day when the world changed forever. It’s a reminder of how much power lies in human hands — to create or destroy, to divide or connect.

In many ways, tennis has been my quiet response to that dilemma. A game of structure, of rhythm, of respect. You stand 78 feet from your opponent, separated by a net — yet everything about the game is built on mutual recognition. The rules don’t work without both players buying in. The game breaks down when that trust is lost.

I’ve learned a lot over 80 years, and not all of it on the court. But tennis has been a teacher, too — patient, demanding, honest. It has taught me about timing, about resilience, about letting go of the last point and staying present for the next. And perhaps most importantly, it has kept me connected — to family, to mates, to others, to movement, to joy.

We live in a time that often feels just as precarious as 1945. New threats, new technologies, new tensions. But we also live in a time where one small act — a rally, a handshake, a quiet word of encouragement — can still mean everything.

As Tim reminded me, there’s something quietly magical about two people on a court just having a hit. There’s real beauty in the rhythm — in the simple joy of striking the ball cleanly, sweetly, again and again.

So today, as I reflect on eighty years lived and all the points still to be played, I offer this:

Play fair. Play with heart. And never take for granted the privilege of stepping onto the court, into the moment, into life.

— Tennis Whisperer