Much like my older brother and nearly all of our childhood friends, I grew up playing all kinds of sports. It’s just what you did. Baseball, basketball, football in the yard, and especially golf and soccer in my family. When we weren’t playing sports, we were watching sports on t.v., and even though the Seattle pro sports teams were mired in mediocrity during my formative years, they provided a constant source of connection, giving us something to talk about, win or lose.
I was older the first time I heard someone wax philosophically about sports as a metaphor for life, but something in me understood. And the other day, I played a golf hole that was the perfect metaphor for my entire life.
It’s a par 5, a nice long uphill hole with a huge wide fairway, but with a bunker left and garbage out right. I hit my drive well, but pulled it a bit, and it was headed for the trap. I was miffed. And in the ensuing two minutes that it took me to walk up to my ball, I spent the time mentally kicking myself for pulling the drive, likely putting it into the trap, when there’s such a huge wide safe landing area on this hole as long as you aren’t a doofus. Which I was. Because, although I hit it well, I was pretty sure I was going to find my ball in the sand. What an idiot. Ugh. Why do I do this? Such as easy hole. And on and on.
But guess what? When I finally walked up to my ball, I noticed I wasn’t in the trap at all. In fact, I was in the short stuff, right there in the fairway. Just on the far left side. But 100% totally fine, with an unobstructed shot to the green. Oh, I thought. Ok. Here we go. A simple three wood, right up the middle. Hit it well and I’ll find the green. Hit it not so well and it’ll be a little short. Sweet.
But I did’t hit it that well. I pushed it way off right, into the rough on the right side of the fairway, and what looked to be directly behind a tree, 60 yards short of the green. Fudge! I screamed at myself, although it was only internal and it wasn’t fudge.
How the hell could I leave that out to the right that like? What a crappy swing. And right behind that tree? Ugh, you dumbass. You suck at golf. And so began the next three minute trudge to my golf ball, mentally berating myself for my inexcusable idiocy, and clear sucky-ness at this sport. Never mind that I’ve played two times all season. My high expectations are immutable.
Quick sidebar: My grandparents taught me to play golf as soon as I could swing a club, but it was years before I learned to control my anger on the course. This unfortunate dynamic had two major aspects for me as a kid: First, my own sense of perfectionism, which makes me hold myself to impossibly high standards, and two: my constant comparison to my beloved older brother who happens to be a truly exceptional golfer. In the hundreds (thousands?) of golf rounds he and I have played together, I have beaten him a sum total of one time. And what a glorious time that was! But back to my story.
As I continue my walk of shame to approach my third shot, I once again realize that, despite my dark assumptions, my ball is actually, once again, ok. I am behind that tree a bit, but I still have a look at the green, and it’s not nearly as dire as I had believed moments ago. Once again, things were just fine the whole damn time, but I, in my head, was a wreck.
And this is my life. Not that I’m always a wreck. But that during those times when I think I am indeed a wreck, it’s actually all just fine. Better than fine, even. Things are always working out for me. Even when I hit my second shot near that tree. Or miss the putt. Or didn’t land that gig I wanted. Or whatever.
By the way, I hit a crafty third shot to fifteen feet, and two-putted for par.
And walked off the green shaking my head, laughing at myself. And endeavoring to do better. Not in my golf game, but in my mental game. Which, of course, is my golf game too. But that internal talk is so much more important than my golf score. It’s everything.
I caused myself so much unnecessary suffering in the span of those 15 minutes, and all for naught. But I’m glad I can notice it, laugh at it, and learn from it. On we go.