At the end of every Grand Slam I always find myself grappling with two conflicting emotions: sadness and relief. The sadness stems from the resounding comedown following fourteen days of intense action. Grand Slams are like my life companions when they’re on; they fill my days, give me energy, and dictate my mood. When the bubble bursts I quickly begin to miss the tennis. After a fortnight of immersing myself in the event, there’s suddenly a profound emptiness. This year I felt this inevitable low perhaps more keenly than ever before, but only because the high of being in Melbourne had been so high.