Searching for my game

Here in Monastir, the air is hot and tropical. The sun beats down every day, and the courts are always full. It’s week two of my return to the tour, and after another close loss, I find myself writing again. 

But this week was different. Week two was better than week one. I fought my way through the first round of qualifiers, and in the second round, I faced an opponent who reignited something fierce in me. I’m tired of losing. Tired of being so close, of almost tasting victory, only to have it slip away. I can count the losses so easily, but the wins—they feel few and far between. 

Now, I’m restless. It's only Wednesday, and I won’t play again until Sunday. Every minute between now and then feels like a waiting game, and I just can’t wait to be tested again. There’s something different about being tested on the court. It’s a test that comes at you in pieces—moment by moment, point by point. Each one feels disconnected, but as a whole, they decide everything. A single mistake, a single moment of brilliance, can swing results one way or another. 

No amount of preparation ever feels enough for this kind of test. But still, I feel like I’m on the edge of something. Week three can’t come soon enough. I can see it. I’ve dreamed about it. All I want is for Sunday to arrive, to step back onto that court, and once again, prove what I know I’m capable of.