
When we see someone hitting a ball against concrete wall, we tend to say things like, oh that’s a bit sad. At least that’s what I think.
That looks boring.
Doesn’t he have a proper friend to play with?
Are they just letting out stress and aggression? They can’t be having that much fun.
And that’s certainly not real tennis (or pickleball).
Those critiques might have some truth to them.
But if you’ve ever actually hit a ball into a wall, you notice some interesting things. Things that you might not notice playing against a person.
I’ve played tennis for a number of years, but coaches still tell me the same stuff all the time. “Give yourself more room.” “Get your racket back early.”
It’s not even particularly technical advice. They’re really just saying ‘you’re shoelaces are untied’, ‘stop stepping on your shoelaces’. That sort of thing.
They keep reminding me, because I keep making the same mistakes. I guess I fall back into old, energy-saving habits. I get distracted by thoughts or get self-conscious in big moments. Whatever the reason, learning tends to be very slow for me.
But it’s a bit different with the wall.
The wall is a surprisingly effective coach.
How could that be? The wall doesn’t have eyes. It doesn’t know me. It doesn’t create special lessons and scenarios. It doesn’t have decades of experience playing and teaching tennis. There’s no artificial intelligence, or any intelligence that I can see. It’s just some painted concrete.
But like a mirror, the wall shows me exactly what I’m doing. It reflects myself, in all my un-glory. And that turns out to be a very useful thing.
For example, if I hit the ball really hard, it flies back really hard. So I realize that if I want to keep my position on the court, I need to hit roughly the same power.
And, if the ball hits higher up on the wall, it will fly back deeper on the court. So even if I hit with the same force, if it’s a high ball, I will need to move.
My grip. How tightly I’m holding the racket. The racket angle. All these little variables become more important, because they really matter when you’re hitting into a wall.
In fact, if my grip is too open, the ball flies over the wall and I have to run and get the ball (or someone on other side throws it back to me).
I realise my arms are longer than I think and I don’t need to be so close to the ball in order to get a hit. In fact, I am usually crunched up, trying to hit within a small space. I need to give myself room. I’ve been told the exact thing by coaches, over and over, yet seeing it like this seems to land in my brain in a different way.
I learn all these things very quickly with the wall. Or rather, I see these things, much more clearly, when it’s just me, in relief against the wall. When it’s just me reflected against the wall.
Now, there’s a lot more going on in a tennis game.
There’s social dynamics, there’s pressure, there’s relationship, there’s memories, there’s all other sorts of reactions. I’m running more. It’s all so much less predictable than the wall. And life is infinitely more complex than a tennis game.
But those little things that I do, like how I don’t give myself enough space between me and the ball, that the wall reflects to me clearly and honestly, are still there when I’m playing a match. Because I’m still there.
This is how a wall teaches us. It removes everything else and leaves us more or less with our self. With less going on, we gain bandwith to notice and learn about (and change) these funny things we are doing with our rackets and feet and minds.
I can see that my racket isn’t pulled back fast enough. It’s just not ready. But when it is, I can see I always hit a better shot.
I don’t need to change it if I don’t want to, but the answer, the solution is kind of staring me in the face.
It’s reflecting back at us.

