How Fear Saved Me

"Courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the judgement that something else is more important than fear". James Neil Hollingworth Often in the game of tennis there is a misconception that when a player reaches a certain level they stop being nervous in their matches. If you watched Garbine Muguruza double fault the championship point in the Women's Finals of the Australian Open this year you know this can be disappointingly untrue. High level players are aware and accepting of "nerves", a natural response at that (or really any) level of competition, they accept that nerves are part of the reality of the game, but the difference between a player and a competitor is a competitor doesn't allow nerves to stop them from competing. It's "Tennis Pro 101" to teach the mechanics of basic, intermediate and advanced tennis strokes, court placement and strategy but explaining to a player how to compete is the toughest piece of the game for a tennis pro to teach. Competition, a fierce inner strength and a warrior mentality sometimes has more impact than talent and while you can explain and model mental toughness, it's often innate and not a particularly teachable part of the game. I always knew that I was a tough competitor, that I had self confidence and a strong thirst for winning but in the late 80's I had a life experience that shattered me to my core, my father passed away. What had been my idyllic childhood and young adulthood and my competitive nature and inner confident voice fell by the wayside. My life thankfully changed over three decades ago when I had an unexpected two minute interaction with a man I will never forget. I had just started my dream job working at the Northwest Clubs in Minneapolis, Minnesota. I was asked by the Director of Tennis if I would have interest in an opportunity to play tennis and work in Europe the next summer. I was so honored to have been selected, thought about it a ton but I was paralyzed by my fear and dwindling self confidence and ultimately decided I wasn't strong enough to manage the experience. The next afternoon I climbed the stairs at the St Louis Park club to find my boss and tell him I had made the decision not to go to Europe. When I reached the top of the stairs the only one in an open office was Marv Wolfenson who along with his life long business partner, Harvey Ratner was the owner of the clubs. I had never met him and quickly turned to leave, but Mr. Wolfenson stopped me and asked if I needed something. I said I would come back later, that I needed to talk to my boss. Mr. Wolfenson asked if there was anything he could do to help and normally I would have been too intimidated to talk with him but for some reason I felt compelled in that moment to have a conversation. I'll never forget it, he invited me into his office and he sat on the edge of his desk, giving me his undivided attention. I stammeringly explained the situation, that I had just started working at Northwest, my Dad had very recently passed away after a devastating illness, that I had been asked to participate in this amazing program in Europe but that it was just too much for me. Mr. Wolfenson then asked me the defining question of my life. "What would your Dad tell you to do?" I answered without hesitation that my Dad would tell me to get on that plane and have the experience of a life time. Mr. Wolfenson looked at me and said, "there's your answer, we will support you in any way we can and your job will be waiting for you when you return". I set my fear aside and I went on the trip and it was an experience of a life time. I can't tell you how many times I have thought of that moment talking with Mr. Wolfenson over the years. How many times I have asked myself in all different sorts of situations "what would your Dad tell you to do"? You may be wondering what my purpose is in telling you this story? That day I learned that coaching tennis isn't about teaching people how to hit the ball. It is helping people find the courage to play, compete, fail and to succeed. That is the day I learned the power of one. We often think one person can't make a difference, but thanks to Mr. Wolfenson I learned that we can.