CRIME AND PUNISHMENT: Lesson Learned

I was guilty.  My crime?  Acting out of character.  This is my story.

My Crime

As I said… my crime was acting out of character.  More specifically, I am an introvert and I behaved like an extrovert.  Behaviors always have consequences. 

While there are many definitions for the term 'introvert', suffice it to say it is a personality type describing people who find that crowds deplete their energy; thus 'introverts' need alone time to recharge. Introverts are not necessarily shy but, from the outside looking in, they appear so.  Extroverts are the opposite and derive energy from crowds; they wade into them with gusto and thrive.  Introversion and extroversion define preferences for how an individual engages the world, but a preference is not an excuse for behaving in one way when a circumstance requires another. Thus, when an occasion requires an introvert to act extrovertly, they should do so; likewise for an extrovert, occasions may require them to be behave as an introvert (though my experience suggests they rarely do). 

So what extroverted thing did I do that set the wheels of punishment in motion?

I am embarrassed to say and it pains me to admit: I played Pickleball.

But that was not the full nature of my crime.

Rather, I played Pickleball at a public Pickleball gathering where I did not know a soul.  To clarify and emphasize: I went by myself… not knowing anyone… to play a game with a silly name. To play a game that seems like tennis for old folks. (For many many years I played tennis so I identify as a tennis player. Thus Pickleball goes against my DNA as does going to a gathering where I know no one.)

Again: I overrode my introverted nature and went to play a game I was skeptical about with people I did not know.  (The universe was aware.)

The Event

I arrived at the designated place at the appointed time; I felt out-of-place but the strangers who gathered to play were welcoming, albeit with a touch of skepticism. They didn’t say the following words… but the points, below, capture the essence of what I heard:

•       We’re so glad you’re here.
•        This is an amazing game.
•       Who invited you? (I mentioned the name of the community program coordinator.)
•        How many times have you played before? (Subtext: Are you good enough to hit with us.)
•        Maybe you should come Wednesday night… for the intro program. (Subtext: We don’t think you can hit with us.)
•        It’s nice that you came.
•        OK. Now that you are here we’ll check you out. (Then someone stepped up to be my doubles partner.)

So, I got on the court and, well, they played OK but nothing special and I played OK too; nothing special. My tennis skills, however, came to the forefront and I hit the ball well-enough and understood the basic strategies.  And, my competitive side came to the fore as well: I tend to go for it and did.

My Punishment

The game progressed nicely and I was enjoying myself with modicum of self-consciousness when a ball was lobbed over my head. So, with the grace of  a 65 year old who hadn’t-played-in-years-yet-possessed-rusty-embedded-tennis-patterns-waiting-to-be-expressed, I went back, made the shot to everyone’s surprise, and turned to return to the net.

And, then...
I was hit me in the back of my leg with a police baton (or so it seemed).

I thought: “Who whacked me in the back of the leg?”  My mind continued: “Oh. I know.”  The thought clarified: I was there, alone, knew no one, but, obviously, I was wrong.  A friend, I surmised, was there.  He must have seen me on the court and, after I had won the point, was playing a joke on me by hitting me on the back of the leg. Joyfully I thought: “Bastard!”  So I turned to see who it might be. No one was there. “Huh?”

As I digested this news, I put weight on the foot of the leg that had-not-been-whacked-by-a-friend... and the ground undulated beneath me. “Oh.” I realized with clarity. I am here alone, so no friend was playing a practical joke on me. Clearly, I realized, it's “An earthquake.” The ground was moving like a wave. There was no mistaking what was happening.  “An earthquake!” I looked up to see who I could help to safety.  But I saw no panic on anyone’s face; no one was running for cover. I thought: “Wait? What?"   I could see  they were readying themselves for the next point. “What?" I thought. Then I knew. 

My Achilles Tendon had ruptured.  And I further knew it was retribution from god for acting out of character. (Not capital “G” God as he or she plays tennis; rather, the small “g” god who is a trickster.)

I had been punished, and the punishment fit the crime. 

Surgery followed a couple of days later; I was on crutches for what felt like an interminable amount of time, plus physical therapy, and, now, eight months into recovery, my calf muscle is not yet at full strength, it feels tight, and fatigues easily.  Nonetheless, I walk a lot, hike a bit, and go to the gym to build strength. It’s summer and I am starting to think about climbing mountains again.  

And, one more thing: I find that, as I drive home from doing errands or visiting the gym, my car wanders the long way back, along the route where I can quickly scan the outdoor Pickleball courts to see if anyone is playing.

The Lesson

I share this story because… well… I think it’s a good story.  In and of itself, that is enough.

But I also share it for the lesson it teaches.  A line from the wonderful movie “The Milagro Beanfield War” comes to mind. I paraphrase it here:  No one would do anything if they knew what they were in for.  

Whatever your Pickleball may be, and be you and introvert or extrovert, go play it with people you don’t know. Preference is no excuse.


MSS
June, 2019