The Fault Is Not Mine

 You can tell a lot about a person by what they’ve set as their phone’s lockscreen. It’s like a little window into someone’s heart, or at least their current mood. A peek behind the curtain of their day-to-day life. Some people go minimalist—just the date, the time, maybe a soft gradient background. Others treat it like a mini vision board: quotes, goals, reminders of who they’re trying to become. And then there are those of us who lean fully sentimental, no shame.

My lockscreen? It’s a photo I snapped at sunset on a clay court in Barcelona. Not even during a tournament—just a quiet, golden evening when the lines were still a bit scuffed from the last match, and the court was empty except for a single ball nestled against the fence. The sky had that dreamy pink-orange blend that only lasts for about three minutes before it slips into blue. There’s something about it that just settles me.

It’s not just about the aesthetics, though it is a pretty picture. That court, that moment, reminds me why I love tennis—not just the matches, the drama, the sweat and strategy—but the quiet parts. The in-betweens. The way the game lingers even after the players leave.

And sure, sometimes I’ll swap it out for a picture of someone I’m low-key obsessed with (no names, but you know who you are, Aussie legend with the best coaching brain in the business). Or something chaotic and silly, like the time I briefly had a meme of a cat wearing a headband and holding a racquet. But I always come back to that clay court at sunset. It’s my anchor.

So what about you? What’s the first thing you see when you pick up your phone? A loved one’s face? A mantra? Something goofy that makes you smile?

There’s no wrong answer—just stories waiting to be told.