Yesterday morning my work load was light enough to where I found myself with a free afternoon that I could commit to a round of 18 holes at a local course. I was feeling adventurous so I decided to tackle a course that frustrated me last year.

When playing this course ten months ago, I had the beginnings of a cold coming on, my left knee was aching and the course seemed to be more of a nature trail with shoddily-placed tees than a “fun” course to play. Yesterday I was looking to shake things up a bit and since I had the time, I decided to tackle this course again.

Upon my arrival and after playing the first two holes, I realized that my memories from last year were very much accurate. The course IS a nature trail that follows a creek through thick woods. The tees were short, concrete slabs that offered no good approach for a distance throw and the pins were placed on the sides of steep embankments where a rolling disc could accelerate and drop into a shallow creek.

After hole 5 I had to force myself to keep going. I was getting frustrated with the weeds, the trees and long grass that marred the landscape between the tees and the pins. “No, let’s just keep going” I told myself. “If anything, this is a good workout for your bad knees.” I’m glad that I did because hole 7 is where I was reminded of the nature of the universe and was given yet another object lesson on how my reality works.

(to be continued)

I’m an avid disc golf player and if you don’t know what that is, it’s the proper term used for what you may commonly refer to as “frisbee golf.” Now that you know the proper name of the game, remove “frisbee golf” from your vernacular and never use it again.

As I was saying..

I’m an avid disc golf player and have been for more than four years. I taught myself how to putt, to drive, to throw hyzers and anhyzers (on purpose and not on accident). I learned the differences between stable, understable and overstable discs. As my skill increased, so did my love of the game and as well as the amount of money that I spend on my hobby.

When I first started investing in disc golf, I purchased a three pack of discs from the local sporting good store that contained a driver, a mid-range disc and a putter. Even though the original triumvirate of discs broke up years ago (due mostly to unforgiving bramble or a bad sense of place), one disc from that original pack stayed with me from the beginning: my orange Innova driver.

No matter how poor my throw or how “rough the rough,” I was always able to find my orange driver. I had a strange bond with this disc because no matter the height of the grass it lay in or the thickness of the bush it was coddled by, my orange driver always knew how to call for me and I always knew how to hear it and eventually find it. I always knew that I could never lose it, no matter how terrible my drive.

Four weeks ago I was fitting in a quick nine before picking up my son from school. It was a particularly windy day at the local course but it wasn’t windy enough to keep me off the greens. After shooting six under on the first eight holes, it was time to saddle up to the ninth and move on with my day.

The ninth hole at this course is a relatively simple par 3, but far to the left was a pond that had been recently expanded by the local park officials. This is usually an easy hole for me and the pond is never really a concern since it’s far enough away to where I can’t possibly drop a disc in it. Besides, my drives always veer right due to my throwing style.

I reached into my bag and pulled out my long-time friend, Mr Orange Driver. I lined up my shot, began my approach and followed through with my release. Much to my dismay (and never something you really know until it happens), my approach felt wrong, my arm felt wrong and the wind decided to do me wrong. I watched my orange companion climb into the air and while climbing, an extended gust of wind from the left decided to push down on the disc just enough to prevent it from breaking right and landing in the soft grass. The angle imposed by the wind sent my driver into the water.

On seeing this happen, two thoughts flashed in my mind simultaneously (or the two thoughts happened so quickly that they appeared to occur at the same time). The thoughts were: “I’ll never be able to get that disc out of that pond” and “No way did I lose my orange driver.”

I picked up my bag and walked over to the edge of the pond, still not believing that my orange driver would not be retrievable. After peering into the murk, it was apparent to me that there was no way I was getting my disc golfing companion back… …but still, in my mind and for some inexplicable reason, I knew that the orange disc would come back to me.

More than likely I would pick up the exact model and color driver the next time I was at the sporting goods store. I assumed that this thought was the reason for the absence of feelings of loss.

(to be continued)

So it’s been almost 24 hours and I’ve already half-convinced myself that continuing on with this “write something every day” commitment is a dumb idea. I get that flexing my writing muscles is ultimately good for me and will eventually pay off; however, I HATE writing about topics and events that aren’t inherently interesting or insightful.

I do believe that it is this hate that has kept me from advancing in my art form of choice, so now I must power through and be hopeful that the mountains I make of molehills are worth the climb for myself and my readership.

Tomorrow I’ll be conscious of what happens during the day, pick something to write about and try to make that topic interesting. For now, I’ve fulfilled my self-imposed writing assignment and am going to drink some beer.

Until mañana…

Well, here I am: a 42 year old man.  I think I need to let that statement sit for a moment.

(If you had any idea how long I’ve been staring at this screen, trying to think of what to say next, you’d shit.)

You see, 20 years ago I was considered a good writer by my peers and my professors.  For 20 years I’ve been living my life, being a husband, having children, and running an up-again / down-again business that is more frustration than fulfillment.  For 20 years I’ve been taking for granted that I will always have the ability to write when the time came and to say something meaningful when given the opportunity.

Unfortunately, it took me until this moment to realize that there is no specific time to say something meaningful.  There is no specific time when the heavens will open up and the next great “thing” will be revealed that is worth either exposing or pursuing.  

The work brings about that time.

So here’s how I start to shake the dust off: to write every day about anything and everything.  

I’m hoping that something will come of this.  Maybe dusting off my writing chops will be a fruitless pursuit of a middle-aged guy trying to hold onto self-worth that he presumably earned when he was younger?

Or maybe if I shake the pan hard enough and often enough, I’ll strike gold.  

That would be nice.