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There’s a soft, rhythmic thud coming from the garden. It’s a sound I know well now. It’s the sound of our son, hitting a tennis ball against the garage wall. It isn’t always fast, and it isn’t always perfect. Sometimes there’s a long pause while he retrieves the ball from the rose bushes. But it is steady. It’s the sound of him showing up for something he loves, all on his own.
It’s a sound that makes me think about the years of quiet practice that go unseen. We catch the highlights on television, the brilliant moments under stadium lights, but we miss the thousand of ordinary afternoons that made them possible. The long car rides, the early mornings, the solitary thud of a ball against a wall.
My mind drifted to a name I’d seen recently, Talia Gibson. A young Australian tennis player, making her way. You see a name like that during the qualifiers for a big tournament and you see the result, a win or a loss. But behind that single line of text is a story that started years ago, with a mum taking her five-year-old to a lesson. A story of leaving home in Perth for a new base in Brisbane, of playing on small courts in towns you’ve never heard of, all for the love of the game and the hope of what’s to come.
It’s a powerful reminder of what it means to build something. Whether it’s a life, a family, or a forehand. It’s rarely about the one grand gesture. It’s about the quiet commitment, the stacking of small, faithful moments. It’s in the trying, and the trying again. The belief you hold for yourself, long before anyone else is watching.
That steady thud from the garden has stopped now. I can hear the back door slide open, the soft pad of feet in the hallway. The work is done for today. And in this small house, just like on those tennis courts far away, a dream is being quietly tended to. 🧸
I wonder, what are the quiet, steady rhythms you’re noticing around you today?
It’s a sound that makes me think about the years of quiet practice that go unseen. We catch the highlights on television, the brilliant moments under stadium lights, but we miss the thousand of ordinary afternoons that made them possible. The long car rides, the early mornings, the solitary thud of a ball against a wall.
My mind drifted to a name I’d seen recently, Talia Gibson. A young Australian tennis player, making her way. You see a name like that during the qualifiers for a big tournament and you see the result, a win or a loss. But behind that single line of text is a story that started years ago, with a mum taking her five-year-old to a lesson. A story of leaving home in Perth for a new base in Brisbane, of playing on small courts in towns you’ve never heard of, all for the love of the game and the hope of what’s to come.
It’s a powerful reminder of what it means to build something. Whether it’s a life, a family, or a forehand. It’s rarely about the one grand gesture. It’s about the quiet commitment, the stacking of small, faithful moments. It’s in the trying, and the trying again. The belief you hold for yourself, long before anyone else is watching.
That steady thud from the garden has stopped now. I can hear the back door slide open, the soft pad of feet in the hallway. The work is done for today. And in this small house, just like on those tennis courts far away, a dream is being quietly tended to. 🧸
I wonder, what are the quiet, steady rhythms you’re noticing around you today?
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