But I didn’t want to pick up just any kind of hobby just to pass the time, to numb the everyday challenges and/or monotony of life. I wanted something I could really sink my teeth into, to be challenged by both physically and mentally; I wanted a project that I could never quite master yet still be fulfilled by, which would stimulate me for a long time and add to my already pretty fantastic life.
As much as I like a challenge, I had to be honest with myself about one thing: I am a creature of comfort. I knew that whatever new hobby I picked up had to mesh well with my need for that comfort, convenience, and physical and mental stimulation. I also didn’t want to pick up a new hobby only to give it up.
Golf was something I never even considered until I moved within two minutes of a golf course, and then I realized that whenever I drove by and gazed at the course the people there seemed like they were having a great time, walking the course and hitting balls in a beautiful setting either at dawn or at dusk when I happened to be driving by either to or from work. Truth be told, I actually used to think that golf seemed like a rather boring, passive, corporate-y kind of activity. [Sidebar: It’s funny how perspective changes everything. This is something I am learning time and time again in life: you have an opinion about something and then the minute your perspective changes, boom! that opinion is immediately subject to change. It makes me think that someday I may actually like the taste of wine! We’ll see.]
But hanging out in a beautiful setting isn’t all there is to golf, so I knew that I was going to have to swing a club once or twice before I made the decision to give the sport a shot. (Bear in mind I had never even held a golf club before, and playing mini golf a few times in my life doesn’t count.) Thanks to a coworker who was willing to lend me an old set he had, I was able to give it a trial run, so out I went to the driving range to hit a couple baskets of balls.
The first time at the driving range, the majority of times (that I even hit the ball) barely exceeded a distance of 25 yards and had no lift whatsoever. And guess what? It was still fun! I liked it, even though I was horrible at it. (A good sign for me.) The next time I practiced in my backyard and got more lift, though not much more distance. The third time I had a lesson, and wacked it higher and straighter and in the range of 75 yards. It felt great. But then a week later I had another lesson with a different coach who taught me an entirely different grip, showed me that I needed to straighten one arm and bend the other, and had me doing drills that didn’t even involve hitting a golf ball, and I was back to square one.
I'm learning that golf is not only physical, but an extremely technical and mental game, and I knew if I had any expectations from myself I would easily get frustrated. So going into it, I gave myself one rule: "Thou not having any expectations of thyself." I told myself that having no expectations would be a good experiment for me and that “being bad” at something for an undeterminable time would teach me to let go of unreasonable self-expectations, because success comes not from simply being naturally gifted at something, but from putting lots and lots of time into it.
So, that’s my new baby: learning golf. A few weeks in and I’m outfitted with new clubs, a couple lessons, a cute skirt, and absolutely no skill or talent, and you know what? I am pretty mother effing excited about it.
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