The spring was a whirl of ruin: a virus spoiled the entire world's circuits of air; the grainy pictures of plastic-wrapped bodies being loaded into refrigerated trucks flashed across televised broadcasts; garbling politicians traded refrains of speculation; and regardless of whether I drew a 6-iron or 9-iron from my bag, my swing lobbed the golf ball a weak 75-yards. “Dammit,” I hissed, slinging the recalcitrant club to the side and slapping the dirt off of my shins. It was an issue with the clubface, you see. For some reason my arms were compelled to rotate clockwise whenever they were on the move, thereby circling my palms forward and twisting the face of my irons. The wobbled habit reduced my club to a tool that slapped to the right instead of one that punched straight ahead. After I wiped a few streaks of sweat from my brow, I rummaged the range bucket for another ball, and rearranged my feet to try again. Suddenly I struggled with the memory of my last phone call with Naomi. She was scratching her way out of a sinking pit of obsessions and compulsions, and I somehow failed to supply sufficient relief. At that point, I still hadn't figured out what she could expect and— I noticed the ball needs to be more centered under my stance. Once the swing reaches the point of impact, the clubface should drag into the ground to carve a divot and make the most of the swing's acceleration. I might've been overthinking things. “Don't,” I imagined Eric saying. “It's not brain surgery. It's a natural, athletic motion. Loosen up,” I thought he would've added, churning my shoulders with a chuckle. It had been a long while since we spoke. He needed more room to adapt to the new year's shifting ground, and at the same time, I could not make myself any smaller of a piece for play. Ellen never did return my call from the other day. I was still waiting to hear back from Preston. Everyone was busy with doing all the nothing, I thought, and I pushed down a wrenching realization of it having been months since another person folded me into an embrace or since I felt a nudge after a good joke. I rolled my shoulders away from my ears, eased into my back swing, and struck the ball. There's a blend of a click and a rustle when the club hits square, and it should feel like it takes hardly any effort to peel the ball down its path. I wondered then whether or not I would be able to keep the dense space between myself and someone I cared for, should they become infected with coronavirus. The probability of such a dark hypothetical didn't seem comfortably low. I considered what it would be like to have a kaleidoscopic turn of governance; if one president and a few senators were swapped out for others would do the trick. Or, was it too late? Does the sky keep falling into a heap of frail developments, brittle pages of legislation, thin facades of movement? I stopped scooping shovelfuls of outcomes once I felt submerged in a grave. It was easier to concentrate on the angle of my wrist, the fluidity of my swing progression, the flight of the golf ball. That takes up hours of the mental labor I'm able to clock in on any given day. That's hours not spent watching footage of a single mom, escorting her children out of the apartment from which they were evicted. That's hours I avoided the pinched expressions of peaceful protestors dashing away from the heavily bundled officers throwing clouds of teargas and firing rows of rubber bullets. Before I started playing golf, I used to puzzle over how so many boyfriends dissolved on Sunday afternoons. “What'dyou talk about out there?” a leery spouse might ask, to which the golfer gives a rounded, perplexed expression. There's no pause for talking when the calculations of every stroke clutter the head. At most, while waiting for the group ahead to clear the green, there might be an exchange of cautious observations. A headline, proceeded by a cursory judgment, and once that's shared, you need to dig into your pocket for a new tee. “More cases sprouting in Texas? That's not good. No sirree. Not sure how the governor'll respond.—Yeah, you go on ahead and tee off.” Golf courses are littered with meandering bodies, clicking and thumping the tapping their balls into one hole, then another. They're there to duck for cover out in the open. When I enroll to join that sort of stupor, my world is free to crumble beneath my feet without hot worry, and without my even noticing, I'm free to drift away in a hollow place, to fade.

I went to play golf with my husband today and he said something to me so profound that I woke from my sleep this evening to take note. My husband has been teaching me to play golf. I have been around the game for a while, however, I just gained the courage to take on this enlightening game for myself. Today when we went to play I did awesome on the first hole. I was amazed. I hit the driver and the ball went far and straight. I was so proud of myself I said “wow” and put both arms high in the air to celebrate. My husband looked at me and said good job. I said Thank you. My shoulders and confidence was high. I placed the driver back in my bag and then walked toward my ball with a smile. I picked the 5 from my bag. Proud that I knew what club to use and how to use it. I hit my ball and another great shot. The ball went straight and landed on the green and now it was time for me to putt. I stood behind the ball like he had taught me and then went for the shot. It was a little short but it was a good miss. I understood what I needed to change and was confident I could make the change. The next putt went in. I smiled all the way to the next hole. As I approached the next hole, I felt prepared but lacked some confidence with this hole. So instead of going with what I thought to do I asked my husband, my coach what club to use. He recommended the 5. It was the right club to use but deep down I wanted to use the driver. I was not yet hitting the ball the distance the club was capable of so I wanted to use a club that will hit longer. Even so, I followed his instructions and the ball didn't do what I wanted it to do. I turned to my husband and said, that is not the right club for this for me. We had some space and time before the next golfer was coming so I walked quickly to my bag and tried a different club. The ball still didn't do what I wanted it to do. So, I went back one more time and picked up the club I wanted to use originally. I hit another ball, this was my 3rd try. The ball still didn't do what I wanted it to do. I was frustrated, I blamed the club, I blame my husband. I had just come off of playing a great game the first hole and then this. I was upset at myself for not trusting my first pick. I walked back to my bag, put the club back and walked with my husband toward the green. He spoke words of truth to me in a kind and profound way. He said, clubs are like jobs. They are each designed to do a certain job. He told me I needed to learn how to get the club to its job based on the distance I needed to hit the ball. He said I could have used a different club but I would not be learning the full use of the right club. He said I quit the club without learning how to allow it to do its job. He said golf is a hard game, and I needed to be kind and patient with myself and with practice I would learn how to use each club. I listened and I clearly understood what he was saying. His statement made me think about how we are all designed to do a certain job or purpose. Yet oftentimes others don't recognize the gift or abilities in us because we don't yet understand it's full capability. It was me that missed the mark. I wanted to place blame instead of taking responsibility. I needed to get to know my club more in order for us to work in harmony and get the ball to do what it was designed to do. Yet, I choose to quit the club and say it wasn't the right one when it really was. Two of the clubs I used on the second hole had just performed for me perfectly on the previous hole when I operated it correctly. Yet, how soon, I forgot all it had done for me when the ball didn't do what I thought it should do on the next hole. When I placed blame on my husband and my club not only was I discounting my ability to improve with practice, I also discounted his wisdom because I had closed myself off from being teachable at that moment. This experience brought to mind a quote by Abraham Lincoln that says “I don't like that man, I must get to know him better”. For that moment I didn't like that club but in reality as I take time to know it better we will work in harmony to accomplish great things. How many times have we not liked someone and made a judgement call about their ability before getting to know them. We are all designed for a purpose and our purposes are connected. Therefore, we need to learn to get to know one another rather than deciding that we don't like one another. When we begin taking the time to get to know the one we once decided we don't like we may discover that they are wonderfully made. So don't conclude too quickly about what a thing or person is capable of. Instead, get to know them better. As we do, we will begin to recognize the greatest inside of them and inside of us.

It's a beautiful day! You can smell the spring is coming! I took out my clubs out and played the first round in 2017. 👍⛳️