Does Worry Stop Your Wonder?

“My husband wants me to get a-.” She looked around the court making sure no one was eavesdropping and then spelled out, “J-O-B.” She hit the ball twenty percent harder. “He thinks it would be good for me to contribute.” Her legs bent; her shots gained more weight. “What does that mean? Contribute?” She pondered while connecting her forty-two-year-old body’s passion to the ball. “I don’t need a job.” Her focus stayed intact. “We don’t need more contribution to our finances.” rnI hit a few shots up into the air. She could warm-up her overhead, maybe smash a few. She went directly to the smashing. “What does he want from me?” Smash. “Is he in trouble?” Smash. “And hasn’t told me?” Smash. “I’ve had plenty of jobs. How can I find a job at my age?” Overhead flies off the frame. “He told me we were comfortable.” A cautious shot. “How can I work? He wants me when he wants me – if you get my drift.” Smash. “What am I gonna do, teach tennis? No offense.” Giggle; smash. “I’m moving back to the baseline. Don’t make me run too much.”rnWe rallied down the center of the court. Self-centered players - intent on pleasing others - can be quite consistent. When she found her rhythm, her mind’s orchestra restarted. “He works hard.” Her shot floated higher. “Maybe I could help with the finances?” She hit a winner. “If he needs a break, I wish he would tell me.” She bent down to re-tie her loose lace. “He’s too young to think,” she rolled her eyes, “retirement?”rnRising from the shoe-tie, she started a new rally. “I’m doing the annual Alzheimer event. I help his daughter, organize our calendar.” Shot-for-shot, she added pieces of her story. “Does he just want me to be happy? I read on-line about that.” She pointed to her head and made the “I’m nuts” circles.rnPressure and confusion; value and identity quandaries. “I’d have to be something more appealing like ‘coordinator’ or ‘consultant.’” Her mind slowed down. “I hate commission.” rnEach work situation stuck to her with great disappointment. “There’s not enough flexibility for me to be myself – whatever that is.” I wondered about her accusation obsession. “It kills me to have to re-start this search. I may have to call one of those horrible bloodsucking head hunters.” She knocked two balls over the fence. “And those were new; I’ll get them after we’re done.” Would that ease the blame?rnDuring the next rally, the silence was big. Birds stopped singing, planes and fire trucks stopped rumbling; the sun was brighter; the balls were easier to hit; the court had more room; the net lowered. The exchange lasted over 100 shots. “I wish life could be that easy – calm, calm, calm.” rnI held up the 4 balls in my hand; she nodded her readiness for more. We hit 10 shots when her inner thoughts re-ignited. “I can’t work Fridays or nights. It would have to be part time.” Her shoulders tightened; her hair fell in her eyes. Every other shot she pushed the strands so she could see. Did she know? “I keep doing this. I worry if it will ever stop. I circle around and then end up wondering what to do next.” She took off her jacket, fixed her hair and sipped some water. “He’s given me an idea, but I feel a lot of pressure.” She skipped to the baseline. “But is he really asking me to get a job?” she asked, with a shot into the net. She got the next one over the net. “He doesn’t want me to be striving any more. That’s it. My strive is killing him.”rnAnother moment of silence enveloped us. “A guy was at the house,” she started with the lilt of a joke, “fixing a gate. I asked him if it will close properly. He told me he’s been building gates for thirty years. I told him I was worried about the weight of the gate on the post. He said to me, ‘Let me worry; you just need to wonder.’” “I felt tears come to my eyes; I don’t know how to wonder. Everything’s so important and needs to be fixed.”rnShe caught the ball when she heard the clang of the gate. The next student was entering. We nodded in recognition that our time was up.rnAfter she collected her purse and tennis bag, she announced, “And I’ll find those balls I hit over the fence for you.” “That’s not your job,” I reminded her, “just wonder.” She left the court.