Katrina M. Adams - Own the Arena

1. Own the table: Recognize that you are at the table for a reason. It is no accident.
2. Own your legacy: Set an example from beginning to end because your accomplishments will impact those who follow.
3. Own your courage: Be bold in all things. You stand on the fearless shoulders of those who came before you. Allow their example to lift you higher than most would dare to go.
4. Own your identity: Celebrate your own background and embrace the backgrounds of others.
5. Own your choices: The challenge is to let go of the personal sacrifices and trust that your decision is the right one.
6. Own your network: Ask yourself, Who can help me advance? Who can help me be my best self? Surround yourself with those individuals.
7. Own your village: Surround yourself with family, friends, and chosen confidants who you trust, to protect and empower you throughout your journey.
8. Own your voice: Do not fear speaking out. Bring your knowledgeable point of view to the conversation.
9. Own your successes: Acknowledge and celebrate your accomplishments. Humility is overrated.
10. Own your losses: Learn from your setbacks. Your losses are never truly failures. Own them because they add to your unique set of experiences and wisdom.
11. Own your obligation: If you are the first, you want to be the first of many. Reach back to pull forward.
12. Own the possibilities: Be open to a new path and dont be afraid of the curve. Because when you explore the possibilities for success, your options are limitless.

You either walk inside your story and own it or you stand outside your story and hustle for your worthiness.

BREN BROWN

I t was one of those steamy summer evenings in New York City, where the jagged Manhattan skyline viewed from Queens appeared to soften in the hazy distance. The air was so still that, in between the squeaking of rubber tennis shoes, the grunts of the players, and the bouncing of their tennis balls, I could hear moths buzzing kamikaze-style up against the lights of Arthur Ashe Stadium. Or was it the buzz of excitement from the people in the stands, bathed in the glow of what was, at that moment, the center of the tennis universe?

The 2018 US Open took place during a record-hot week, with temperatures nearing 100 degrees Fahrenheit. For the first time in our history, we had to implement an extreme-heat policy, allowing men to take a ten-minute break between the third and fourth sets if a player made the request, and women were entitled to take a ten-minute break after the second set. We went through thousands of towels, and players were guzzling as much as two and a half gallons of water each during matches. Just walking around the grounds made me feel like I was going to melt into the asphalt. I could just imagine the physical toll felt by our players. Having played in Melbourne, Australia, and Hotlanta myself, I knew what they were going through.

On the night of the womens finals, the Presidents Suite was packed to capacity with VIPs, from well-heeled corporate titans to celebrities, including Robin Roberts, Taraji P. Henson, Shonda Rhimes, Judy Smith, Mayor David Dinkins, and Dr. Mehmet Oz. Getting this coveted invitation takes months of delicate negotiations that can become politically fraught, because everyone wants a spot, especially during the finals. But our guests must earn the privilege of being there. Each year the US Tennis Association (USTA) uses the opportunity to recognize our biggest supporters, individuals who have promoted the sport in various ways as donors, influencers, and fans.

I also exercised my prerogative as the first African American chairman and president, to invite family, friends, and business partners of color, who brought more flavor into a historically White suite. In America, we still primarily live in segregated social circles and people naturally gravitate toward others who look like them. The USTA has had only nine black directors on its board, including me, in its 138 years of existence. Without hesitation, under my lead, the Presidents Suite was going to reflect my priority to elevate diversity and inclusion.

Sitting with me in the front row was tennis great Virginia Wade and executive advisor Roberta Graves, and my girls from Northwestern were in the surrounding seats. Id been having a blast watching two of my favorite playersSerena Williams and Naomi Osakathe GOAT (greatest of all time) and the Futurebattle it out on the center court.

Id had my eye on Naomi for a while. Her performance throughout that entire 2018 US Open had been extraordinary. Even more outstanding was her laser focus and a poise that was well beyond her years. Off court, her shy demeanor belied a fierce competitiveness. It seemed like nothing could ruffle this twenty-year-old phenomenon. Of Haitian and Japanese descent, Naomi was born in Japan and grew up mostly in the US, although it was decided early on by her parents that she would represent Japan as a player. If she won this match, it would make her the first top-ranked Asian player in the history of the sport. She was also a black woman playing against another black woman who had made history. The pressure Naomi felt must have been immense. But she has learned how to tune out the distractions and be fully in the game. This match, against an icon of the sport whom she had admired her whole life, was no different. I could see that Naomi was in a zone. With just moments to go in the match, I left my seat to prepare for the trophy presentation.

Although anything can happen in the final few games of a match, Naomi was leading and was theoretically two games away from winning, which meant it was time to make my way down to the court, to perhaps crown a new Grand Slam tournament champion or sit there for a long comeback and crown a champion of a record-tying twenty-four Grand Slam tournament titles holder. The score was 4-3 in the second set and Naomi had just broken Serena Williamss serve.

As chair and president of the US Tennis Association, one of my favorite parts of the job was to stand on the podium and present the trophies to the winner and runner-upa ceremony that takes place almost as soon as the players have shaken hands over the net. Having been a player and dreamed of winning a major myself, this was the closest I got to ever holding the coveted champion trophy. The setting up of the stage, which for the sake of the global television broadcast gets done within ten to fifteen minutes and is timed to the second, happens right in front of the net. Most viewers dont see this well-coordinated process as a team of about ten workers swiftly assemble the pieces of the podium while the USTAs half-dozen dignitaries quietly file along the sideline. Instead, the cameras are zeroed in on the winner leaping into the stands to embrace his or her family and team members, as well as the faces of the players as theyre toweling off and collecting themselves after all the drama of victory and defeat.

Knowing the finely tuned logistics of what was about to take place, I had to hustle down to center court. It would be a long walk from my seat, up the stairs, and across the carpeted suite. Still in the suite, I passed the television monitors, the empty champagne and honey deuce melon cocktail highball glasses stacked on the bar and side tables. The fifteen-hundred-square-foot space was unusually quiet. The few people who werent outside, transfixed by the match, had their eyes riveted on the video monitors. I glanced up quickly and the score still hadnt changed.