I won't pretend to have read every word David Foster Wallace wrote. And I admit I have gone back to re-read passages because I just didn't get them the first time. But what I have read I have liked. And I share, or I guess I should now say "shared" a connection in that we were both regionally ranked junior tennis players (him, a bit higher than me) and both of us had/have a special love for that sport. A sport many don't understand.
And likewise, David and I shared a love for those players with artistry and grace. Those like John McEnroe and Roger Federer. Not the boredom-inducing bashers that are all so prevalent today, like Rafael Nadal and Andy Roddick of present, and Agassi and Courier of yesteryear. Doesn't mean I don't like them as people. Well, okay, I can't really stand Roddick. But their games just bore me to tears.
The other thing that David and I have shared, now a bit more obvious than before, is a serious battle with depression. I can't pretend to know that inner workings of David, but according to his father, depression had been a real battle of his for some 20 years or more. The last few apparently worse than the others. I can relate all too well. I won't go the TMI route for now, but things have happened, as well as some events in childhood that I have struggled with, the last 4 years have been...dark as midnight without a moon. So far nothing has worked to bring me out of this. Every day is a struggle and I don't pretend that the possibility doesn't exist that I won't join David in similar fashion one day. But for now, somehow, I'll make it through one more day. And then another. I wish you were still here David. May your soul be in peace.
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