Over the past few years, so much has changed in my life. My relationships with my kids and my husband have undergone dramatic shifts. As a parent of adult children, my conversations and interactions with my kids have taken on new meanings and have new boundaries. As empty-nesters, my husband and I have lots of time together without the daily interruptions that our lives with teens or babies brought. It's been amazing to start to remember what it was like when it was just the two of us back at the beginning of this whole thing we call marriage! And, lastly, perhaps the biggest change is that we moved from the town where we lived and raised our kids for 25 years. Although my friends will always be my friends, we are not as involved as we once were in each other's day to day lives. When our kids went to college, the activities of schools and sports and the neighborhood that once dictated our lives' schedules ended. Some of us went back to work, some moved out; the smart ones, to warmer climates, and some, like me, just a few towns over. Suddenly, life was looking very different, and I knew I had to find some way to adapt.

Most of us avoid change. I know very few people who seek it out, who love to face the unexpected or the unknown. We are creatures of habit. We like what makes us comfortable and we find solace in what we know. We seek the smoothest path and we try to carry the lightest load. And yet, change is part of life.  I have found that it's been in the resistance and the unwillingness to accept its inevitability that I have struggled most. So what to do? If I was a better person, this would be the part where I tell you an inspirational story about finding my passion and rediscovering myself. Perhaps I'd be sharing how I have dedicated myself to others and, upon hearing of a desperate need, joined a group building homes in Uganda, or how I began reading to women in prison, or that I finally poured out my heart and soul into the greatest novel since "Jane Eyre,"or at least, "Fifty Shades of Grey." Or maybe I took up the violin and mandarin Chinese. Or better yet, had adopted displaced orphans from Syria. But, alas, I have done none of those things. Instead, I have discovered paddle tennis. And if anyone knows of a support group for paddle addicts, please let me know. I admit I need help. That's the first step, right?

I, the woman who hates the cold, who is a terrible, laughable athlete, who fears competition; the one who breaks bones doing anything physical, am a paddle junkie. I'm out there layered up in wool socks, long johns, hats, gloves and all the gear that goes with the sport. I bought the paddle, the paddle glove, the bag. There are whole stores dedicated to the stuff. I've spent hours online shopping. I've embraced competition. I want to win, to slaughter, to smash that ball at my opponent. I love to talk strategy and use terms like, lob, drive, let, volley, forehand, backhand and game, set, match. I have away matches at other clubs where they serve lunch after in a warming hut. I get sweaty, I allow hat head, I have laundry with work-out gear in it. It's a whole new me and I love the new me. I have rosy cheeks and chapped lips. I'm an athlete, or at least sort of. The bonus is that while getting leaner and meaner, I've met great women! We laugh and have lunch after practice. And, I'm the captain. Of a team. One that competes outdoors. In the winter. Hell, my teammates don't know I hate the cold or never competed as a member of a team before. To them, I'm a paddle player, and a halfway decent one. They don't know my husband, or my kids. There's no back story, no shared history of neighborhood squabbles or being on opposite sides of the school board election or the fight to build the playground. It's all fresh, new and fun and has been a chance to learn something new, to try something I'd never done, to be active, to be outside and to reinvent myself in a small way.  I'm not the mom with the kid who punched Billy in preschool. Or the one whose kid walked off the stage in the middle of the kindergarten ballet recital, only to displace their kid on the dance team a few years later. I'm not the one who is always late, or the one who Annie doesn't like, or the one who is a terrible cook or who only volunteers to bring the juice or the paper products for the class party.

Reinvention is liberating. The adjustment to empty nesting has been eased and the sadness has been replaced by the realization that I’m always available because there are no kids at home who are always getting sick, or needing rides or getting detentions or have projects due. I've developed cat-like reflexes. My knees work again. My hand eye coordination might just be better than my 20 year-old video game aficionado son's.  I've got muscles I never knew I had. I'm on paddle fire. 

Around the corner, spring is coming when my friends and I will switch up our paddles for racquets and head out to the bigger courts. We will have round-robins, and tournaments and all sorts of fun playing doubles or singles, wearing those wonderful little skirts, and a headband, and short, cute socks with racquets embroidered on them. I’ll buy a bag that holds my new shiny racquet and a sweat towel with a cute saying like “love meanings nothing in tennis” embroidered on it. I'll even put my initials on it. I can hardly wait. Watch out Serena.