Now that I’m home, I’m going to take on a project that will require all my dedication. Will I address world hunger or perhaps contribute to an elevated consciousness in Canada?
I’m becoming a better golfer. There … no grand plan for touching the world, just me touching the land. Hitting balls with a prayer that they’ll hang in the sky. Wait a minute – that sounds a bit spiritual to me.
I’ve become a member at Tarandowah Golfers Club near Avon, Ontario. My plan is to go there most days and hit shots on the driving range until I get consistent enough to play the course with other members. Tarandowah is a very difficult course which matches my golf game nicely. But I’ll get there, supported by the lessons I’m taking from Derek Highley in London.
I was on the range yesterday. Such a meditation. I hit 200 balls, trying to “sweep the grass” and have the low point of my swing an inch or two in front of the ball. I’ve never really practiced before so no wonder that I’ve never broken 120 at Tarandowah.
Consistently hitting the ball on the sweet spot of the clubface is one key to happy golf. But consistency hasn’t exactly been my middle name. And so what? I begin. Most of my shots were hit off the heel or toe of the club and squibbled unimpressively down the fairway. My low point ranged from two inches in front to three inches behind, with corresponding tears in the earth. Sometimes life felt effortless and the ball climbed in the air. Mostly, though, it was like hitting a stone.
Again I say, so what? I’m on the road to the sweet spots of life. And I realize it’s possible to feel that sweetness even during the most wayward shot. I’m on the grass, doing something I love. I’m fully capable of letting performance thoughts go and revelling in the happiness of being at Tarandowah. I met some fine people out there yesterday and that’s the realest joy of any activity for me. Sooner than I’m expecting, I’ll be walking down the fairways beside them.