Thursday, February 9, 2012

Hidden between all the infuriating shots in beginner’s golf are those rare moments when everything connects, small oases where you discover, much to your delight, your body in communion with physics, rather than outright revolt. Surprisingly enough, I’ve found more than one such moment on the putting green, and brief as they may be, they are valuable for the hope they instill–the hope that, in spite of myself, I can be competent at this sport.

Equanimity. I’ve used this word in the context of golf before. I like it because it evokes what it defines. But equanimity on the green feels different than it does in the tee box or on the fairway. When I’m driving, for instance, a good, calm shot feels totally effortless. A solid put, on the other hand, also feels effortless, but it’s a bit more kinetic, too. There’s this click that simply feels right. Not too much, of course, lest the ball go skimming off the green. Just enough. Click. Follow through. And then the ball, seemingly guided by luck and magic, finds its way home.

I’ve realized, too, that not having any expectations helps immensely. There was a time when I tried to obtain equanimity. But that peace is more a by-product now. Instead, I’m reveling in my attendance, pleased as punch that I have the wherewithal to even step on the green. I’m there to enjoy the weather. And I’m buoyed by the thought that maybe it’s persistence, rather than insanity, that’s propelling my arms to swing again and again.