Tag Archives: life

Golf Ball Season

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Our house in Syracuse is across the street and down a hill from a municipal nine-hole golf course. You can’t actually see the golf course from my house, but you can’t help but know it’s there because, every spring and early summer, it’s golf ball season.

See, there’s a certain hole in that course where, if you slice them just right, you send golf balls over the fence, down the hill and onto our property. I find them nestled against the curb in front of our house, on my front lawn, or in the flower beds on either side of my front porch. One memorable time, while I was weeding my backyard garden, I witnessed one in action, bouncing down our driveway and coming to a stop at our garage door.

Finding golf balls is as much a part of my spring as the blossoming of early perennials, packing away my winter sweaters, and medicating my reaction to tree pollen.

The one waiting for me at the foot of our driveway when I got home from work today happened to be a nice, pretty new Titleist. I generally feel a little badly for the golfer when he or she sends a new one over the fence, as those things aren’t exactly cheap. But the majority of the balls that land in our yard are obviously practice balls, the more expendable, practical choice for the beginning golfer.

I never learned to play golf. Oh, I took some lessons and tried playing it on the very course I live near today, but it didn’t come naturally to me, so I quit.

I quit because, for too many years, I prided myself on being a perfectionist. And I used this desire to be perfect as a compass for my life; if I was good at something (and/or received praise for it) I stuck with it. If not, I dropped it.

Besides, what’s wrong with wanting to be perfect, I’d wonder? Isn’t “perfect” a wonderful word, a positive one? Don’t people remember Olympic gymnast Nadia Comaneci for her perfect ten? Why settle for B’s when you can get A’s, for “good” when you could be “best”?

And that perfectionism served me in many ways. I did very well in school. Loved reading because I was good at it, and writing because of the grades and accolades it brought me.

Then there was art. From the time I could hold a crayon, I loved to make pictures. Although I had no formal art training, I experimented with watercolor, chalk, pencil, ink, charcoal and acrylic paints. My mother didn’t just put my pictures on the refrigerator–she framed some of them. I believed I was destined to design greeting cards and illustrate children’s books…that was until, my sophomore year in high school, I got a C in art.

I never took art in school art again. Nor pursued a career as a commercial artist.

Writing, on the other hand, consistently brought me the grades, praise and awards I craved. Long before I graduated from high school, I had my mind set on being a writer.

Little did I know that the perfectionism that drove me to write would also turn out to be my biggest roadblock to a successful writing career. Far from being a “positive’ trait, it held me back, taunted me, scolded me. I’d get a rejection slip and quit writing for months at a time. I’d start a novel and, compared it to the work of my favorite authors, then abandon it, embarrassed, disgusted. Without teachers to stoke my ego and provide me with the encouragement I so needed, I floundered and procrastinated, struggled and avoided.

Yeah, perfectionism does that. So much for being a positive trait.

What I didn’t understand for the longest time…well, actually there were three things:

First, Nadia didn’t achieve her stunning level of performance naturally. She practiced. A lot. Yes, she possessed physical attributes that lent themselves to becoming a gymnast, but she also needed to spend countless hours honing them to accomplish what she did during those ‘76 games. Certainly she stumbled and fell and had imperfect dismounts during the years of practice leading up to her perfect scores.

Nadia exemplified the phrase practice makes perfect. If I had worked on my writing or art with even a tenth of the dedication Nadia put into her routines who’s to say what I could have accomplished.

Second, I’ve found that with any endeavor, the best lessons often come from one’s mistakes and failures. I think–I hope–that I am a better sister, friend, aunt, employee, writer and all around person based on the mistakes I have made over the years and what I eventually learned from them. In fact, I have come to believe that we’re all here to learn. Life is one unending series of lessons. And we’re not going to excel at each and every one of them–what’s the challenge in that?

And third, whether it’s pursuing hobbies or vocations or better mental and physical health, it’s important to have fun with the journey. When I finally stopped expecting myself to write epic prose and just began writing more regularly, I began enjoying both the process and the outcomes more. Sure, I still wince a little when I catch a typo or grammatical mistake I’ve made, and I still sometimes really envy the brilliance in other writers. But I know that my time at the keyboard is cathartic for me and, I hope, beneficial to others. Plus I learn from those other writers. And truly, that’s enough.

So as I retrieve the golf balls that come to my yard each year, I hope that the people who sent them my way don’t give up too soon. If they’re having fun, getting exercise, and spending time with friends, I hope that can be enough for now.

My only advice would be not to invest in new Titleist balls from the get go. Learning something might come at a cost, but it doesn’t have to be so expensive.

 

Life is SO Unfair!

download (2)   Every once in a while, when I struggle coming to grips with one of life’s thornier questions, I Google the question to see what answers I might find online.

Google, my guru in a box.

And so it was earlier today. I had another blog post partially written for this week, but over the last few days I hadn’t had the energy to finish it. It was way too positive, something I had not been feeling during most of the past week. Maybe I just would skip a week on my blog. Who would notice, really?

But then I began the peel back the layers of why I felt the way I did, at first blaming others for letting me down and not treating me the way I felt I deserved to be treated. My partner John. My boss.

I kept peeling. Eventually I got down to the core of why I felt so demoralized. What I discovered there didn’t really surprise me; I have actually been aware of it off and on for years. But this wasn’t one of those self-discoveries I’m particularly proud of. Not at all.

I felt disheartened because, dammit, life is just so unfair.

Rationally, I know better. I mean we’ve all heard the question, “Whoever said that life was fair?” It’s really not. Bad stuff happens to good people. It always has. But in my mind, that’s not the way it should be.

Time and time again throughout my entire life, when I’ve encountered a situation or an experience that I considered unfair, I’ve reacted in the same way—hot, angry tears spring up, my rational mind shuts down, and it feels as though my heart has turned into a rock.

I mean, why do I give so much and get so little in return? I have been more than a dedicated partner, employee, friend. Why shouldn’t I expect Easter flowers, a significant raise, or some unsolicited encouragement and support in return? I’ve been there for them, right? Shouldn’t it work both ways?

Life is just SO unfair!

When I finally recognized that this fairness/unfairness concept was once again the source of my discouragement,  I wanted to come to terms with it once and for all (which of course probably hasn’t happened—we are all works in progress). As I said, rationally, I know life isn’t fair. Why do I keep expecting it to be, only to be disappointed over and over again?

So I turned to my guru Google, and I typed in the search box, “How do I stop expecting life to be fair?”

The first page of results from that search contained articles that pretty much told me I should put on my big girl panties and just deal with it. Not very helpful because, as I said, my kneejerk response to anything I perceive to be unfair has always been immediate and automatic. I wanted guidance on how to change how I’ve been feeling in recent days. Telling me to just get over it didn’t cut it.

I kept scrolling. On page three of the Google search I came across the first article that struck me as helpful. Once again, it didn’t tell me anything that, on a rational level, I didn’t already know. But it explained my dilemma in a way that I could embrace at a deeper level, making it possible for me to break the downward mood spiral I’d been on and giving me the energy to write this new post.

You see—and you may already totally get this, but I obviously still needed enlightenment—that sense of unfairness unfailingly occurs when we set expectations for people, places and things that we have no control over. When those expectations aren’t met, we experience disappointment, resentment, and maybe even anger. We focus on what we believe should have happened, or should have been said or done. We justify our reaction by thinking that we would have behaved differently, or that we deserve to have our expectation met because, doggone it, we’re hard working or loving or honest or thoughtful, so we should get something in return for that.

And sometimes that happens. But quite often, it doesn’t.

Rather than get all worked up about it, then sink into a quagmire of defeat and lethargy, the emotionally healthier approach (and physically healthier approach, for that matter) involves resetting one’s perspective. Instead of mulling over the perceived affront or letdown, concentrate on all that is wonderful and good about your life. You’ll immediately feel an energy shift. I sure did.

So a couple of things didn’t go the way I wanted them to this week. Big whoop. I have my health, my family, my friends, my house, my yard…and that’s just for starters. I have Google to pose questions to. And the Syracuse University men’s and women’s basketball teams are both in the Final Four for the first time in school history.

But expecting people or circumstances to behave a certain way is simply unrealistic. It’s like expecting perfection from the weather, or travel plans to go flawlessly, or basing our financial future on lottery tickets. Expectations over things we can’t control creates stress. Releasing those expectations creates energy.

I hope, if you’ve come across this post, that it energizes you as well. Let’s face it, the world needs all the positive energy it can get. Each of us can contribute to that.