“A well hit golf shot is a feeling that goes up the shaft, right through your hands and into your heart.”
― Ben Hogan
If you’re the typical weekend golfer, like I am, you know the frustration that comes from your errant tee shots, balls flying off the straight and narrow fairway, occasionally into the trees. And while you search for yours, you inevitability find someone else’s lost ball, but never your own. Or your shot winds up in a water hazzard, where you can see it but can’t quite reach it, unplayable. Either way, you’re required to hit another shot, another attempt to hit it accurately, and taking a penalty on the score card, another stroke further from par.
And then there are those days where nothing that you attempt works, and you decide to just quit in the middle of the round and head back to the clubhouse to the “19th hole” and have a pint or two to assuage your frustrations.
There are times, just as often, when writing, that my thoughts take flight just as an errant golf ball, not straight where I intended to go, but slicing off course, only to become lost and causing me to start over. Except, unlike golf where the tee box hasn’t moved, in thinking, my mind has moved on and I can’t return to where I was in the first place and, consequently, wind up taking another direction, another fairway (if you will) until I’m so off course that I simply give up.
And as frustrating as that is, I can’t help but remember those times where, like a well hit golf shot that left that satisfied feeling in my heart, so wonderful, that I keep writing knowing that while much of it is nothing to remember, there are those times where I’ve written something worthwhile.
Because I’ve done it before, I know I can do it, and I keep going back to re-experience that good feeling.
I will never win The Masters in golf nor the Pultizer Prize for anything I write, but that doesn’t mean I should give up trying.
And having some fun at it, at the same time.