My Mess-Up on the Green
So, I was out there on the course, just trying to get a decent round in. You know the feeling, the sun’s up, it’s pretty quiet, just you and the game. I stepped up to the tee on what looked like a pretty simple par 4. Took my practice swing, felt okay, addressed the ball, and let it rip. Or so I thought.
That ball, man, it just took a sharp right. I mean, a serious, uncalled-for detour. Like it suddenly remembered it left the oven on at home. It soared majestically into the trees, probably startling some poor bird. Talk about frustrating. One minute you think you’re Tiger Woods, the next you’re auditioning for a lumberjack role, hacking your way through the undergrowth.
But this wasn’t just any old slice into the woods. As I was trudging over there, muttering to myself, something else started to bubble up. It wasn’t just about the lost ball, or the extra stroke on my card. This errant shot, it kind of represented a whole lot more that was going sideways for me at the time.
See, back then, I was working this job. On paper, it was great. Good title, decent pay. But the pressure, whew. It was like being in a vice, slowly tightening. My manager, he was one of those types who believed if you weren’t swamped, you weren’t working. More projects, tighter deadlines, “just one more thing” constantly. I was supposed to be dedicated, always available. That was the unspoken rule.
- Late nights were standard.
- Weekend emails? Expected.
- My own time felt like it wasn’t mine anymore.
My golf, which used to be my way to switch off, started to feel like another performance metric. Every shot had to be perfect. Every score had to be better. That one awful shot, disappearing into the trees, it was like a sudden, sharp reflection of how I was handling everything else. Trying too hard, forcing things, and ending up way off target. I was definitely in the rough, in more ways than one.
So there I was, peering into the bushes, trying to spot my bright yellow ball. And it just sort of clicked. I found the ball, eventually, covered in leaves. But I also found a bit of resolve. I decided right then, I needed a change. Not in my golf swing, well, maybe that too, but a bigger change. I was done with that particular brand of crazy.
It wasn’t like flipping a switch, mind you. I had a long talk with my family. Started looking around. Eventually, I moved to a different company, a different kind of role. Still challenging, but, you know, sane. The kind of place where people actually go home. My golf game? Still has plenty of those errant shots. But now, it’s different. I mostly just laugh, take my medicine, and play on. Because it’s a game, right? And life, well, it’s too short to spend all your time hacking around in the woods, stressed out of your mind. That one bad shot taught me more than a dozen good ones ever did. Funny, isn’t it?
