We went for the game, plus a few other things. A Barnard student’s personal reflection on the past, present, and future of NYC’s most coveted tennis tournament: The US Open. 

I have my first memories of going to the US Open when I was 11 in August 2014.

It wasn’t like I really had a choice. As a member of a tennis family and an active (overly competitive) youth player, it was the one event I looked forward to every single year like clockwork. 

Here is how the day went. 

My family of four drives straight to Flushing Meadows (Queens, NY) for an entire day of tennis. It’s a no nonsense affair: up at 8 am, into our car, slathered in sunscreen, lunches packed, and we are off to the races. Parking eons away from the stadium, we haul our bags for the treacherous walk to the gates.

There are no cute outfits, only durable and painfully bright Nike clothes. I engage in no photo shoots, only a quick intermission to make sure we got a single family photo that is always used for our Christmas card. And it’s pretty awesome. 

We hit the outer courts (respectfully, Louis Armstrong and Grandstand), practice courts (hoping to see someone interesting practicing), and eventually climbed to what feels like the highest part of the main stadium (Arthur Ashe) court with our tickets we paid a solid amount for, but nothing close to what you can imagine Jannik Sinner vs Carlos Alcaraz was this past Sunday.

We park ourselves for the next four hours and don’t move. The only sound is our muffled gasps and synchronized clapping during and after every point. It is virtually perfect. No matter how exhausted I was from the sun, I always left the grounds so much more in love with the sport than when I got there. 

While so much of my life has changed in the last eleven years since I first experienced Flushing Meadows with a giant fuzzy tennis ball and a dream to see the greats, so much has not. The magic of the US Open still gets me excited and ignites the childhood passion I have had for this sport my entire life. 

The best part now is watching other people find it. 

Flash forward to Monday, September 1, 2025.

I am practicing an all too familiar routine. Up at 7 am to hand select an outfit, but this time because I want to look cute. Next, it’s onto the subway, onto the 7, and straight to the gates because this time I’m coming from my college apartment, not my childhood home. Oh, how time has flown.

It’s less fuss, but now I’m in heels, so my feet are a more pressing issue. I don’t have a bottle of water or lunch and am determined to snag two of the most prime seats in Louis Armstrong Stadium because I don’t have the funds for a reserved seat. So with that being said, I will quite literally defend these seats with my life. 

Two hours after profusely sweating, the first match is about to begin, and I am still reserving my seat. I have engaged in informing the ladies next to me about who we are about to see (Alex Deminar, ranked #8 in the world) and that my friend whose seat I am still saving is coming. I swear she’s on her way! The two ladies and I complain about the lack of professionalism in the crowd and joke about needing a drink. 

Deminar sweeps in straight sets, and as I’m clapping, I see one of my closest friends round the corner and spot me. She’s holding two honey deuces and has a smile plastered on her face. She walks up the stairs, hands me the drink, and takes a big sigh of relief. 

What ensues over the next three hours is a feeling of pure happiness. Maybe I’m happy because I get to introduce this sport to someone new, but maybe I’m also happy because all these years later, a singular event can bring me right back to myself and some of my most formative personal memories. 

Yes, I posted the drink on my Instagram story, but I also got to take a moment and feel alive watching incredible athletes exhibit mental strength, physical toughness, humility, grace, and hard work. It’s a reminder of the universal message that who you are on the court is who you want to be off the court.

No matter what the future may look like for me, tennis, and the US Open, I hope there are many more times I am waking up early, sweating in the sun, and explaining to someone what 15-40 means from 100 feet above the court. 

It’s the tennis lifestyle, and you can’t help but want to be a part of it.

Ursula (age 11) at the US Open in 2014 with family!

US Open Header Image via Bwogger