Personalize It

 

Looking back over my life, whether between the lines of a tennis court or in the rooms of recovery, I realize now how profoundly I was influenced by the people around me. My role models weren’t always the ones giving winning speeches or wowing the room behind podiums. They were often the quiet ones, struggling emotionally in various ways, yet somehow pushing through, holding it together through all the pressure and change. I felt little connection to the ones who made it look easy, for that was so not my experience. I sought out the ones who’d been through some things, who’d suffered a bit, for that’s where I always seemed to be, going through things. It was the players and peers who were candid about their struggles, who had the courage to tell the truth about themselves, inspiring me to begin telling the truth about myself.

Growing up, as with most young boys, my father was my first role model. Yet I had a complex relationship with my Dad. He drank. A lot. Not exactly the behavior to model, but kids being kids, try I did. I can laugh about this now, but by age 10, I had a beer bottle collection that was truly awesome. If that wasn’t weird enough, my Dad encouraged it, bringing back local beers from his various business trips abroad. Needless to say, this wasn’t going to end well, and I have the rehab bills from my adulthood to prove it.

My chaos at home was only slightly alleviated by my time on the court; no matter what was happening at home, it could be eased somewhat by some good play or a sound thumping of a worthy opponent. But playing poorly and losing, and all bets were off, with my internal world often falling apart. Let’s say I brought the crazy, not so much because I hated playing poorly and losing (trust me, I did), but it was more about how I was treated for playing poorly and losing. Somehow, my play became a referendum on my worth as a young person, a pretty heavy load to carry to the courts every day.

And with all that discord swirling around, I vividly remember my first tennis role models from back then. I was in awe of the kids who could manage their emotions on the court, knowing full well how I felt when matches got tight, I marveled at how that was even possible. Off the court, I watched other family dynamics, where parents supported and loved my junior peers seemingly unconditionally, win, lose, or draw, for that was so not my experience. What I would have given for an upbringing like that. And though I was young and not entirely in sync with everything happening around me, those examples were my first lessons in what it meant to be a role model and what constituted emotional intelligence before I even knew the term existed.

Later in my life, in the rooms of alcoholism recovery, I discovered a different kind of role model entirely. My peers there weren’t athletes but survivors — men and women who taught me that strength wasn’t always about dominating; that true strength, the kind required to heal from the scourge of alcoholism, began with surrendering, with showing the courage to admit you were defeated and ask for help, acts so antithetical to my hyper-competitive upbringing. My first role models in recovery showed me how honesty and humility rebuild shattered lives, the proof being their showing up every day sharing about they they healed their broken lives.

Inspired by them, I set out to become like them. And work it did. I watched people rebuild their lives from ashes, not because they were extraordinary, but because they were honest, humble, and willing to change. They modeled the kind of emotional self-awareness and compassion I needed to change, something that, when you’re hardwired toward intense competitiveness, one can resist to the point of insanity.

These experiences, on the court and in the rooms, forged the foundation of my work today. Emotional intelligence isn’t a luxury in tennis or in life — it’s a necessity. It’s what helps players to keep coming back, to keep working at it til it works. But beyond performance, EQ is what makes the tennis journey meaningful. It’s what transforms the lessons of the battle into the building blocks of character, transcending the pressures of life and play into purpose.

We want to approach Role models as mirrors. They don’t give us a blueprint to copy; they help us recognize traits already within us; sparks of resilience, gratitude, and humility waiting to be expressed. The best ones remind us that our grandest goals in life do not end at a destination, but exist as daily practices that empower us, all the while having a positive influence on others

Today, through First Ball To Last, I try to carry these values forward —to be the kind of role model I once needed. My mission isn’t to tell players who to be or how to be, but to help them discover who they already are, and to equip them with emotional tools that will not just be performance-enhancing but life-enhancing, allowing us to look back at our mistakes without shame, our struggles without bitterness, and our role models, in life, tennis, and recovery, with the greatest appreciation.