I’m on the court, a ball flying toward me. It bounces, and I swing my paddle, making contact. The ball arcs over the net and lands near the baseline, and I rush forward. Bam, bam, bam, it zooms back and forth…until it bounces out of my reach, and I lose the point.

An hour later, I find myself nearly incapacitated, lying in bed, where I stay for much of the afternoon. I’m not physically depleted, but my brain feels like it’s on fire from too much stimulation. Below the surface simmers a sense of doom, as though I’m under attack, with no defense.

Nine months ago, I started playing pickleball. Most days it is fun—I leave the court lit with joy. However, some days, especially when I play too long or with advanced pickleballers, my nervous system gets so cranked up from the speed of the game that I have to rest much of the day.

Last week, the post-game meltdown lasted two days. I felt wired and tired, unable to do much at all. Finally, ending in tears, I looked closely at this new creation.

I see how it mirrors my childhood. Raised in a highly competitive family, I’m wired to try to win. I was the youngest of six kids, so I always had to compete extra hard to keep up at all. We battled over everything, especially love, since in the presence of alcoholism, much of the parental attention went right into that scotch bottle. Now, I throw myself into situations and exert so intensely I end up depleted.

It’s not just sports, either. I compete for my mate’s affection, to be the best writer, and to be the boldest, brightest light around. My efforts are rarely good enough for me, mind telling me to buckle down, work harder. And at times I believe its lashings, like an old horse whose master whips it forever onward.

I now see that the lower worlds are all about competing; that’s the food chain, so powerful in its drive to constantly move us toward our next incarnation. But there comes a time when we can let that go. We can let the world continue with its dog-eat-dog existence and bow out of the competition.

I’m at that point of reckoning with this over-achiever, so I call on the Inner Coach. Immediately, I feel the True Love inside. This Essence is so blissful that it blazes out all ambition and replaces it with effortless effort. Who cares if I play poorly or well—whether on the court or in life. It has no bearing on this Love that I am. This Love is real, while all those achievements mind strives for are merely a dream. When I live from this heightened state, my mind settles, my body calms. This bliss is separate from everything—it is so pure and uplifting, and yet it is everything—it is both singular and united with all life.

I no longer feel any need to strive, to try. I simply am.

As for pickleball, I’ve found a handful of players who are at my level, so it’s a slower game, better for my body and mind, and thus my spiritual heart. I can simply be where I am—right now. With that attitude, I always win!

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