Life is confusing at the moment. I grapple with my priorities, and try to both tidy up my existing work and personal life, and at the same time re-define what I want and need going forward. All around me, other people are questioning their own paths, perhaps glimpsing their own mortality in the middle of a pandemic, or looking for another way of being that might be preferable, easier, less stressful.
I feel as if my inputs are out of control, overwhelmed by the agendas and urgencies of other folk’s opinions and requirements, and despite hard work on the defence mechanisms of “saying no” and “opting out”, each new message, request or suggestion goes down like a lead balloon on receipt. There is precious little calm in life at the moment, and respite comes only when watching the breath, or very occasionally when hearing the waves crash in, then draw back out.
I pick up my boy from the latest play-date, and he looks distracted, as if he has something on his mind. The seatbelts click in place and we drive away, waving thanks out of the window, and as he looks back my way, he releases the message that soothes my troubled mind, and brings us closer together.
They’ve been at the golf range, endlessly thrashing at their drivers, and while he has been before, and enjoyed one or two lessons, I’ve never wanted to push either him or his sister towards this magnificent path of being “a golfer”. Not much in life has brought me as much joy or sorrow as golf - I feels as if it is my teacher, following me down my path and metering out lessons in how to think, behave, survive.
Few disciplines have such a connection with inner strength, and etiquette, and after taking up the game at roughly the age my children are now, I’d always hoped they’d play and love this silly old distraction that is golf. So that we might drive round the Scottish links one day, and drop coins in the honesty boxes. Or drive through the gates of the great American country clubs, and see the acres of fine turf all around, in the footsteps of the greats. Or maybe just head to the pitch and putt, and simply be together, deeply immersed in the wonderful simplicity of knocking a ball round with a stick.
I’d always hoped they’d want to play, for I know that among the time spent playing this old game might be the moments, the memories, that we’d cherish most. But I never wanted to push too hard, for fear of that possibility going away. And yet, this afternoon, as the rain hammers down and we dash from the car to our front door, his words have lifted me more than he’ll ever know. He “really want(s) to improve his golf” and that way lies both a lifetime of sporting agony and the most wonderful chance for a deeper life, for connection and self-discovery.
Life remains confusing, but we’ve turned a corner today, and we’re looking forward now. Thank you, son.
I’m still operating with the same hope and trepidation… he’s 25