Divots

I’m sick and tired of throwing my station wagon in reverse before getting my seatbelt on. Finishing my cold brew before getting to the station wagon. Taking a shit before I finish my cold brew.

I’m too used to taking a divot in life 10 feet before the ball. Gazing up at the fairway of possibility an hour before my follow through. I’m doing this on the course as well. Always have been. Famous for it.

It’s obvious, ironic, poetic, even prophetic that maybe my biggest struggle in this ADHD riddled life (self-diagnosed for ACT testing only) rears its ugly head most viscerally during a round of golf. I’ve returned to the game recently. Not that I was ever too deep in it. Yet a college house reunion weekend on the Central Coast has forced my hand into stick behavior. Regularly overpaying for a large bucket at the Westchester Driving Range. Rushing up the 405 for 16.5 holes of afternoon golf in Encino. Getting cyber with my hooks and slices at the simulator. I’m doing all of it. And I’ll tell you what…I’m over it.

Golf? Not exactly.

I’m over putting the waggy in reverse before the backup. The cold brew. I’m tired of accepting that I cannot dedicate myself to process. That I’m destined to value outcome over approach.

I wanna remove the fairway from the equation. Jason Bourne memory. Eye on ball action. First on the course. Then in life. And I’m aware that none of us, except maybe Jannik Sinner and the dude who cleans toilets in Wim Wenders’ Perfect Days, can master such cerebral levels of presence. Nor would I ever want to. Sounds scary. But every swing reminds me to solve one problem at a time. Each miserable divot or simulator replay is a souvenir from my overeager, rushed, and haphazard approach to existence. Then every so often, by the grace of god and Roy McAvoy’s double pleated khakis, I strike a can’t-believe-it’s-not-butter ball. My head down, chest still, and swing steady. Proving that I’m able to exist in the here and now. Control the only possible thing we can control. Approach. Attitude. Pant to jacket combo.

Until, of course, the here and now is over. Who’s to say it’ll go my way again…Time to start over. Next shot. Next hole. Next obstacle. Next Michelob Ultra.

Jason Bourne memory. David Webb mentality. John Michael Kane anticipation.