I recently won my first doubles tennis tournament in a few years. This was the most satisfying because we won four matches on three surfaces, with one of the battles being quite challenging, requiring a come-from-behind victory.
It took longer than I expected—and probably longer than I wanted—but in retrospect, that may have been exactly the point.
We played in the Men’s 4.0 division, and the format itself demanded adaptability. We were guaranteed three matches, one on each surface—hard, clay, and grass—with the finals played back on hard. Three surfaces. Three tests. And, as it turned out, a useful lesson in how progress actually shows up.
A Quick Note on Afformations:
Before getting into the matches, a bit of context on a mental tool I’ve been experimenting with: Afformations.
Popularized by Noah St. John, Afformations are questions rather than statements. Instead of telling yourself, “I am confident,” you ask, “Why am I feeling confident right now?” The premise is simple: the mind is very good at searching for answers to questions, and much less cooperative when asked to believe statements it doesn’t fully accept—especially under pressure.
What I’ve found, both in tennis and elsewhere, is that Afformations work best when they are recognitive, not aspirational. The questions that helped me most weren’t trying to manufacture confidence. They acknowledged preparation that already existed.
For example, during tense moments I’d ask myself:
Why are you so focused and well prepared right now?
That question worked because it was already true. I had put in the reps. I had trained consistently. The question didn’t hype me up—it created space for execution.
That distinction turned out to matter a lot over the course of the tournament.
Match One: Hard Court Confidence
We started on a hard court and came out firing. Everything felt clean and aligned. We won easily, 6‑0, 6‑2, and walked off the court feeling confident and energized.
In hindsight, this was the easy part. It’s much simpler to stay composed when things are going well.
Match Two: Clay and Volatility
Clay slowed things down, and the second match didn’t start the way we’d hoped. My partner had a very challenging first set. He lost all three of his service games, and we dropped the set 6‑4. The match could have unraveled quickly.
Instead, we did something subtle but important: we stopped pressing.
I focused on consistency—keeping the ball in play, making intelligent shots, and minimizing dumb ones (there were still a few). We won the second set 6‑0 and carried that steadiness into a third‑set tiebreak. Even after falling behind 4‑5, we stayed composed and closed it out 10‑5.
It wasn’t spectacular tennis. It was disciplined tennis.
Match Three: Grass, Nerves, and Recovery
Grass is my favorite surface, but this match was by far the toughest. We lost the first three games quickly and had to claw our way back to win the first set 7‑6.
The second set brought a moment that could have derailed the entire tournament.
We were up 5‑4, 40‑15, match point. A high backhand volley floated to me. The entire opposite side of the court was open.
And I missed it.
I was furious with myself. I can only imagine what my partner was thinking—and to be fair, I probably deserved some wrath. I hadn’t always bitten my tongue earlier when he missed some makeable shots. I have a tendency in doubles to react like a fan rather than a teammate, which isn’t always great for morale.
We lost that game. Momentum shifted.
But we didn’t spiral. We kept our wits, stayed focused on the next point, and eventually won the set 7‑5 and the match. That put us into the finals.
The Finals: Don’t Give Hope a Foothold
Back on hard court, we played our cleanest tennis. We won the first set 6‑2 and jumped out to a 5‑0 lead in the second.
Then we lost focus. They won three straight games. Hope is a dangerous gift to give an opponent.
Fortunately, we recognized it in time. We battened down the hatches, returned to basics, and closed the set 6‑3. Tournament over.
Finally.
Inversion, Consistency, and Why This Worked
Later, my trainer asked what the key to success was—not just in this tournament, but in general.
The answer felt almost boring in its simplicity: consistency.
That’s when I thought of Charlie Munger’s advice to always invert. He often said that instead of trying to design a great life—or a great investment—it’s often more effective to identify what reliably produces failure and avoid that.
On the court, that’s exactly what I did.
I wasn’t trying to play great tennis. I was trying to avoid losing tennis.
I focused on:
- Keeping the ball in play
- Getting returns back
- Winning my service games
- Not attempting low‑percentage hero shots
I won close to 90% of my service games. I made relatively few unforced errors. I didn’t do anything extraordinary.
My partner, who has much less tournament experience, was more volatile—particularly on his serve. But his volatility was temporary. He recovered. And together, we were good enough.
In doubles—and maybe in life—you don’t need perfect stability.
You need instability that recovers.
Finally
Winning felt great. But what stayed with me was something quieter.
Confidence doesn’t need to be summoned or shouted into existence. It needs to be earned—and then trusted. Whether through Afformations, mental cues, or simple restraint, the real work wasn’t about adding something new. It was about removing what reliably gets in the way.
Consistency. Curiosity. Fewer dumb mistakes.
Maybe Finally isn’t just about winning a tournament.
Maybe it’s about realizing that progress often comes less from designing greatness—and more from patiently avoiding the decisions that lead to bad outcomes.
On the court, and off it.
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