Tennis... and my continual need to be good at everything

I love tennis.
I love it, I love it, I love it.
I love the way the ball "pops" when you give it a good, hard top-spin-stroke. I love watching tennis. I love watching it on TV, and I really love watching it live. I love the way the crowd is reverently quiet during a point and the way the players respect the tradition of it all. I love that my kids call Roger Federer "mom's boyfriend" and the way Jeff says, "Honey- I'm not worried. Roger Federer wouldn't have you." I love the friends I've made at the club. I love league matches. I really love the clothes.

But the truth is, I sort of stink at tennis.
For as long as I've been playing (about five years) I should be really good. I should be competing in tournaments and beating 4.0's. I've certainly spent enough money on lessons...

As Jeff reminds me, much of a persons ability is natural aptitude and I sort of think I'm wired to play an instrument... or quilt... or decorate... I mean, I'm crazy good with scrapbook supplies and last week I had to SPIT OUT MY GUM while serving because it was throwing me off. How's that for a contrast?

I wonder if this is dilemma many men face. Men are sort of "supposed" to be athletic in our culture, and most men love sports. So it must be a real disappointment for some to realize they are better at bookkeeping or the trombone or photography than baseball.
It super-duper stinks.

I keep going --every week--to league and to workouts and to lessons. I do believe I'm better than when I started. It's great exercise. I have the best tennis friends in the world. But a small, unspoken part of me mourns to know that I'll never be as good as I want to be.

BTW- the player in the red shirt above is Rogie Baby! Jeff and I went to the US Open again this year. We only got to see one match before a hurricane hit the coast, but it was AWESOME!