I am standing on a paddle tennis court in Limassol, waiting for the ball to bounce into the perfect position. The paddle is in my hand. My new colleagues are around me, laughing. It is Thanksgiving morning, and the stock market is closed. This is my third day at my new trading job.
The ball comes toward me. I am locked in the moment, and when it is there, I hit it with full force.
Suddenly, a memory surfaces from decades ago. I see a teenage boy holding a racket, standing on a different court, in a different country. That boy won his first tennis championship. Now, 30 years later, I am holding a paddle instead of a racket, playing with strangers who are becoming colleagues, and I am standing on the other side of the world.
I remember that feeling. The focus. The moment before the swing.
How did I get here? How did I go from that moment, three days ago when I was still new, still uncertain, still wondering if I had made the right choice—to standing here, laughing, hitting the ball with full force?
Let me take you back ten days.
The Interview That Almost Didn’t Happen
I had my second interview scheduled with the company. This was the important one. Not the first screening—this was where they would discuss my test results, and this would determine if I moved forward or not.
I was nervous. This job meant everything. It meant everything I had come here for.
My accommodation at that time was in a hostel. I found a quiet terrace on the third floor where I could take the call. The view of the sea was good. The light was natural and calm. I set up my laptop carefully, checked my internet connection twice, and waited.
I had prepared for this moment.
We started the call. We exchanged greetings. We were maybe thirty seconds into the introduction when something shifted beneath me.
The walls began to shake.
The tremor was short but strong. My first instinct was disbelief. This cannot be happening. This is the interview that matters. An earthquake right now? But there was no time to think. The ground moved. The terrace moved. I felt it.
The man on the video call felt it too. He was in Limassol as well. We both knew what was happening.
Then it stopped.
The shaking ended as quickly as it had begun. Fifteen minutes later, he messaged me. He asked if I wanted to continue.
I said yes.
The Choice
We picked up where we left off. We finished the interview that same day.
But something had shifted in those minutes while the earth was moving.
I could have said no. Most people would have. A natural disaster is a legitimate reason to postpone. No one would have blamed me.
But I remember the exact moment I decided to continue. I remember thinking: if a tremor could not stop me, then nothing would stop me. Not a market crash. Not a bad trade. Not pressure or fear or uncertainty.
If I could not push through this, I had no business being a trader.
A few days later, I got the message: I was hired.
Three Days at the Company
The first day was meeting people. Faces, names, how things worked. The second day was learning systems, understanding routines, feeling the rhythm of a trading room.
The third day was Thanksgiving, and the stock market was closed.
One of my new colleagues—someone I had just met—invited a few of us to play paddle tennis. I had not played in years. The weather was perfect. The sun was warm. And I had nothing else to do except accept.
I was standing on a court with strangers who were becoming colleagues, and my body remembered something that my mind had forgotten. The position. The focus. The moment before the swing.
When I hit that ball with full force this morning, I was not just playing paddle tennis.
I was hitting the ball that the teenage boy had learned to hit decades ago.
I was honoring the choice I made in a hostel terrace when the ground was shaking.
I was understanding, for the first time in weeks, that I was not just changing jobs. I was becoming someone different.
Back to the Beach
Two weeks ago, I was at Limassol beach watching children and elderly people play in the waves. I wrote about joining them, about feeling like a kid again, about remembering why I came here.
Today, three days into my new job, I understand something deeper.
It is not the beach that is important. It is not even the boat, eventually, that matters most.
It is the moments in between. The moments when you are terrified and you keep going anyway. The moments when you have a choice to reschedule or to push through, and you choose to push through.
The moments when you stand on a new court with new people and your body remembers who you used to be—and who you are becoming.
The ball is bouncing again.
And when it comes into the right place, the answer is always the same: hit it with full force.
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