For a brief period of time recently, I actually considered joining my high school golf team. Keep in mind, I do not own a club, let alone have even picked up one. But a spontaneous opportunity sprang up, and I thought that maybe it would be fun, something new to try my senior year.
However, I am not a spontaneous “spur of the moment” person, and my mind soon came up with a list of doubts and reasons why this idea would be the destruction of my life. Surely if I committed myself to a sport I had never played, my time would be wasted, valuable time that could be spent improving my writing, which would then affect my future career, causing me to struggle and get a job waiting tables to pay the rent.
Do I overthink everything? Yes. Yes I do.
Point being, I did not join the high school golf team. But in the spontaneous moment, I called my grandfather, an avid golfer, and asked him to donate an old set of clubs to my cause. He excitedly agreed, and told me he had used golf balls and spare tees too.
And that is the story of how my garage came to gain a pair of golf clubs and a dusty bucket of balls. The end.
Just kidding, I’m not done to the actual point yet. You may be asking yourself where I could possibly be going with this, and frankly I am writing the same way I write every single other piece of work to my name: by just going with the flow.
The flow seemed to have swept me to considering the fact that golf is a lot harder than I expected. After taking a tee, a dirty ball, and the club with the big end (it’s called a
“driver” supposedly), I was sure I had set myself up for success. I was confident in my ability to at least hit the ball, and I wound up, ready to whack the living crap out of the thing. The result of that powerful confidence was almost a thrown-out back, and a swing and miss.
My family, who had gathered around to watch the show, doubled over laughing. My mom encouraged me to try again, while I tried to tune out brother’s howling laughter. I held up my club, determined to just make some form of contact. Yet another failed attempt, the only thing I made contact with was a clump of grass and dirt.
My third time, with an aching shoulder and back, I was very pleased with my decision to avoid playing this sport in public, but I wasn’t going to stop swinging until the ball moved.
“Follow through, and you’ll hit it,” My dad called. This seemed easier said than done, but I was in dire need of advice, so I did what he said.
The ball rocketed through the yard, rolling across the neighbor’s driveway. My family’s laughter turned to surprise, and I turned to flaunt my (small) success with a smirk on my face.
What I’m trying to get at people, is that sometimes, we make things a lot harder than they need to be. We overcomplicate plans, overthink our relationships, and end up swinging so hard that we miss the ball entirely.
Sometimes all you got to do is focus on simply following through, and you’ll hit it farther than you ever imagined you could.
The next pro golf star,
P.S: If you ever have any thoughts, comments, or just want to talk to me about how much you love strawberry ice cream, email me at-
I would be humbly overjoyed the receive your messages, and would gladly discuss my opinions on flavors of ice cream. Xoxox.