By the way

After thinking about it, I realize that the below could come across as one of those crazy person moments that happen that end friendships. like when your cousin Jeremy told everyone he found God, but God was living in Idaho skinning potatoes. God lived in an RV... yada, yada, yada... that old story. Also, your cousin Jeremy was probably on meth. I got away from the point. I'm not becoming a crazy person. Anyway, who would you rather be in a pool with, a shark or a lion?

Golf, Love, and Happiness

Maybe golf is just a microcosm of my life. Maybe everything I have ever done wrong, and every wrong that has ever been done to me are the reasons that I can’t swing this club. Maybe things will never come together. Maybe I just don’t deserve to be happy. These are the thoughts that were going through my head today after my less than stellar tee shot on the 14th hole. I know, it sounds insane. There I stood, 150 yards away from the green, a tree line to my right, and a green side bunker looming to the left. The smart, simple and easy play is to grab my 7 iron, drop my second shot on the green, and, at worst, two putt for par. Sure, that’s the easy play, but I’m also the guy who flubbed a shot on the previous hole and subsequently threw his pitching wedge into a tree. No kidding, it took us ten minutes to get it out of a branch. The sad part is that I just stood there, ready to give up on the club, because I figured, to hell with it, I just won’t play anymore. It’s not worth it. The irony of the situation is that I am widely perceived as a very easy going, affable person. I don’t often let my anger show. Maybe I haven’t let enough emotion show. As I stared at the clubs in my bags, roughly a thousand things ran through my head. First I tried to convince myself that since the clubs were used when I inherited them that they are total crap. My bag? What a piece of shit. Maybe if all of my clubs had their own separate hole, they wouldn’t get mixed around in the bag and I wouldn’t have to search for a certain club, thus always staying in a perfect rhythm. My shoes were too tight, briefly considered untying and retying them, even though, no matter what, I knew that the answer was the 7 iron and absolutely none of these other factors mattered. The thing about golf is that it’s very mechanical, and if you follow the basic rules of swing science, almost anyone can play it. I am not a bad golfer, nor am I joining the pro tour in my life time. I’m at peace with that, but I see no reason that I cannot consistently shoot in the mid 80’s. When it comes down to it, my handicap is my brain. I possess an inability to put a bad shot in the past and move on to the next one. One bad shot begets another bad shot, begets an atrocious shot, which culminates in a full blown melt down. Get your radio-active suits on. I am the master of conjuring excuses for why I think I stink. Excuses, excuses, excuses. All of these things lead me to a situation where I believe that there is some other worldly force that is holding me back from being truly good at a simple game. But really, all it is, is a bunch of excuses. The thing that I realized today is that I am the only thing standing in my way. There is no one playing defense, there is no shot clock, there is only me, the club and the ball. Go on, young man, be happy. I’m 150 yards out, tree line to my right, green side bunker to the left. All I have to do is swing. It was in this moment that I came to grips with the ways that golf does mirror my life. The trees to my right are every relationship I have had for the past 10 years. They blossom for a short time, and shortly after, they wither and grow bare. They are my paralyzing fear of never being accepted for who I am, the good and the bad. They are my unfounded delusions that I am unlovable. Sadly, I always end up in the trees, because I’m too afraid of the bunker. The thing about sand is that it can be very hard to get out of. My feet sink, the ball sinks. I find myself swinging harder and harder, frustrated beyond belief that I can’t get out. The sand is the deep seeded alcoholism that has ripped my family apart. The sand is my dark place. I live in the sand. And yet as I stood there, 150 yards away, I laughed. I laughed at the fact that the trees and the sand will always be there, in life, as well as on the course. No amount of pain or unhappiness is worth living with if you feel like you can’t swing the club. There’s just some things that I need to put behind me before the next hole, in life, and on the course. Today I decided to enjoy my life again. No more excuses. Life is a simple game. Just keep your head down, swing through, and trust that the ball will go where it should.