NYC 13 Weeks of Adventure: Week 11 - US Open
The Grand Slam tennis tournament held each year in Queens, New York.
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In undergrad, a group of friends and I thought we’d knock back a few shots of apple-flavored vodka that might or might not have been at room temperature before heading out to a huge party.
The night's results were as disastrous as you can imagine, and every time I reflect on the dorm where all of that shortsightedness took place, I shake my head in disdain. The building did nothing wrong, of course; it just happened to be the setting where I had strong emotions.
This is pretty much how I feel about my time in Flushing.
To be crystal clear, I had a great experience at the US Open. The play was competitive, fashion was on point, and the sky was blue from afternoon to evening. I didn’t get caught in long bathroom or concession lines either.
However, before pulling up to the Billie Jean King Tennis Center, I had a conversation that left me feeling like a slap on sunburned skin. So, though excited to watch Americans Emma Navarro and Taylor Fritz play, I couldn't shake the unease that radiated through every nerve in my being.
Looking through my camera roll, you’d think I had a joyous time. I took a bunch of pictures. I am even smiling in some of them, but the feeling behind them doesn’t match the image, and to write as if it did would be inauthentic. In all honesty, I was too relieved to be seated once I made it to my spot in Authur Ashe. With competition midplay, I could stare forward and dissociate in peace for the next twenty minutes or so.
I have no problem stringing together sentences on a page, but the same can not always be said in conversation, especially during tough ones. When I’m frustrated, avoidance and shutting down entice me like a glass of cold water after running miles in the heat.
Remember that conversation that left me needing aloe for my soul? Well, it went down because my communication was off. So naturally, I pushed my sunglasses higher onto my nose, pretended the direct sunlight wasn’t uncomfortable, and spent the next few sets in my head hyper-fixated on what I perceived I lacked.
Sweat dripped from the tilted glass of my honey deuce as I brought it to my lips. I swallowed down its coldness alongside any words I could think of to make the past moment better. It felt like the entire event was mocking my existence—down to the drink in my hand. Its three-dot garnish seemed like an acknowledgment of the drafting I was doing in my head, but wasn’t committed to pushing send on. I grinned as I swallowed the orbs of ripe, grainy flesh - each bite, a small erasure of my past timidness.
Communication was everywhere at the Open—doubles teammates shared silent and spoken cues, ball collectors used hand signals, and play commentary came through bright blue earpieces. I took in every detail as if any one element could solve my challenge.
I share this with you because while I did attend the Open, my heart wasn’t in it. The history nerd in me didn’t linger at the wall of champions or feel moved by the retro tennis wear in stores. As the sun began to reach beyond the horizon, I grew annoyed. Much time had passed, but my temperament remained largely the same.
I guess the US Open will have to be apple-scented until next year.
LET ME KNOW
Are any places tainted to you due to an emotional experience had there?
What remains on your summer to-do list?
Tennis or pickleball?
Have you been to any professional sports championship game?
So sorry your day was tainted. The US Open is on my bucket list so maybe I’ll be there next year.
You had me cracking up at the vodka part but then once I kept reading, I was like, "oh nooo"! I am so sorry about your experience but thank you & I deeply appreciate your storytelling!