Appreciate It, Stupid
The grind is called a grind for a reason. My parents really drove the work ethic into all of us very hard so I have a pretty high threshold for working through things.
But I was losing my mind without even knowing it, and I think the guy who asked me to join him to play golf was feeling some of the same sort of pressure.
It was a crazy idea. I was going to drive better than 2 hours, play golf for 4 hours and drive back home. My tee-time was scheduled for 8:30.
How is that relaxing on a day off?
You'd be surprised.
My rules for the trip were I-pod all the way. Thoughts of tomorrow would be pushed aside. Thoughts that bordered on negative would be shown the exit. Just going out for a drive and a walk with a club in my hand to try and get my head straight. I refer to it as heading out to the desert to do my time (Got that from a Bruce song). The rest of the sentence is just looking for a sign.
Which was the 3rd rule of my trip:
Open up the senses to everything. I've always been able to do that when I'm on the top of my game when I'm writing.
It helps.
At 5:30 in the morning I hit the road. The first song to play was that Cold Play one - Viva, whatever. When he sang the line: I know St. Peter will call my name, I was off and running.
For one reason or another I thought of my Mom. I spent about twenty minutes just thinking of the sacrifices she made for all of us and how hard she worked, and that threw me headlong into thoughts of my beautiful wife and her devotion to our kids. Then it was onto the kids and how they make me laugh and how they are so much like Fuzzy's, and I began wondering how that happens. John begot John who begot Cliff who begot Sam and Jake and something that Kathy said the night before:
"It's amazing how much Sam and Johnny look alike, and Jake and Nicole."
"You seen one Fuzzy you've seen them all."
Tracy Chapman took control of the next twenty minutes:
I can't run fast enough. I can't hide. I can't fly. Struggling with the limits of an ordinary life.
And the frustration of working so hard each day jumped into my mind just as three deer took their place on the side of the road. With the sun rising and the deer feeding, I pushed the frustration out of my mind.
There's so much beauty.
I considered my golf game. I've been playing since I was 16. So many rounds. So many great times. So much laughter.
I thought of Jeff at the tee with an iron in his hand when he was young and strong.
"You can't get it there with an iron," I said. "It's 280 yards."
He didn't answer me.
I was always trying to guide him.
"I'm telling you, it's going to be in the middle of the pond."
No reply.
He swung the club and the ball zoomed high into the air. It landed dead center in the green on the other side of the water.
"One question," he said. "Do you ever tire of being wrong?"
There are so many times during the day when we wish we were somewhere else. I thought of my family again. Having too much to do and too many responsibilities is never an excuse not to savor each moment.
Do you ever tire of being wrong?
I got out of the car and went straight to the tee. I hadn't played in two months. My hip would be an absolute mess by the end of the round. I was going to enjoy every single shot. Even if there were 120 of them.
I hit the first ball down the center of the fairway. My standard 220 yard shot. Three shots later I had par for the hole.
The sun was riding high in a brilliant blue sky.
Wink. Wink and the moment's gone.
All through the round I thought of that David Gray lyric.
This moment was going to stay with me.
When I got home I'd appreciate more of the blessings that have been given me. All the laughs. All the love.
Feel the love.
"You're clear to hit," one of the guys in the crew said.
"You sure I can't reach?" I asked.
"You can't hit it that far," he said.
I swung the club and the ball zoomed high into the air. We saw the two golfers on the green where I was aiming scramble a bit.
"Oh shit, you're in the center of the green!" he said.
We apologized to the golfers at the next hole, but here's a secret:
I wasn't sorry.
I had my sign.
I was still in awe and appreciation that I could hit it that far.
Do you ever tire of being wrong?
I even birdied a hole.
By the 12th hole I couldn't sit down in the cart without pain because of the hip.
I even appreciated the pain.
But I was losing my mind without even knowing it, and I think the guy who asked me to join him to play golf was feeling some of the same sort of pressure.
It was a crazy idea. I was going to drive better than 2 hours, play golf for 4 hours and drive back home. My tee-time was scheduled for 8:30.
How is that relaxing on a day off?
You'd be surprised.
My rules for the trip were I-pod all the way. Thoughts of tomorrow would be pushed aside. Thoughts that bordered on negative would be shown the exit. Just going out for a drive and a walk with a club in my hand to try and get my head straight. I refer to it as heading out to the desert to do my time (Got that from a Bruce song). The rest of the sentence is just looking for a sign.
Which was the 3rd rule of my trip:
Open up the senses to everything. I've always been able to do that when I'm on the top of my game when I'm writing.
It helps.
At 5:30 in the morning I hit the road. The first song to play was that Cold Play one - Viva, whatever. When he sang the line: I know St. Peter will call my name, I was off and running.
For one reason or another I thought of my Mom. I spent about twenty minutes just thinking of the sacrifices she made for all of us and how hard she worked, and that threw me headlong into thoughts of my beautiful wife and her devotion to our kids. Then it was onto the kids and how they make me laugh and how they are so much like Fuzzy's, and I began wondering how that happens. John begot John who begot Cliff who begot Sam and Jake and something that Kathy said the night before:
"It's amazing how much Sam and Johnny look alike, and Jake and Nicole."
"You seen one Fuzzy you've seen them all."
Tracy Chapman took control of the next twenty minutes:
I can't run fast enough. I can't hide. I can't fly. Struggling with the limits of an ordinary life.
And the frustration of working so hard each day jumped into my mind just as three deer took their place on the side of the road. With the sun rising and the deer feeding, I pushed the frustration out of my mind.
There's so much beauty.
I considered my golf game. I've been playing since I was 16. So many rounds. So many great times. So much laughter.
I thought of Jeff at the tee with an iron in his hand when he was young and strong.
"You can't get it there with an iron," I said. "It's 280 yards."
He didn't answer me.
I was always trying to guide him.
"I'm telling you, it's going to be in the middle of the pond."
No reply.
He swung the club and the ball zoomed high into the air. It landed dead center in the green on the other side of the water.
"One question," he said. "Do you ever tire of being wrong?"
There are so many times during the day when we wish we were somewhere else. I thought of my family again. Having too much to do and too many responsibilities is never an excuse not to savor each moment.
Do you ever tire of being wrong?
I got out of the car and went straight to the tee. I hadn't played in two months. My hip would be an absolute mess by the end of the round. I was going to enjoy every single shot. Even if there were 120 of them.
I hit the first ball down the center of the fairway. My standard 220 yard shot. Three shots later I had par for the hole.
The sun was riding high in a brilliant blue sky.
Wink. Wink and the moment's gone.
All through the round I thought of that David Gray lyric.
This moment was going to stay with me.
When I got home I'd appreciate more of the blessings that have been given me. All the laughs. All the love.
Feel the love.
"You're clear to hit," one of the guys in the crew said.
"You sure I can't reach?" I asked.
"You can't hit it that far," he said.
I swung the club and the ball zoomed high into the air. We saw the two golfers on the green where I was aiming scramble a bit.
"Oh shit, you're in the center of the green!" he said.
We apologized to the golfers at the next hole, but here's a secret:
I wasn't sorry.
I had my sign.
I was still in awe and appreciation that I could hit it that far.
Do you ever tire of being wrong?
I even birdied a hole.
By the 12th hole I couldn't sit down in the cart without pain because of the hip.
I even appreciated the pain.
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