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A Canadian friend sent me this letter from a former golfer. Although addressed to himself, it is intended for a far larger audience, and deservedly so.
“Dear Younger Me,
I can’t play golf anymore. I tried to swing the club the other day, but my body wouldn’t cooperate. The best I can do now is sometimes take walks on the course, but my eyes aren’t as good as they used to be so I don’t see much. I have a lot of time to sit and think now, about the game I loved.
It was my favourite game. I played most of my adult life. Thousands of rounds, thousands of hours practicing. As I look back, I guess I had a pretty good time at it. But now that I can’t do it anymore, I wish I had done it differently.
It’s funny, but with all the time I spent playing golf, I never thought I was a real golfer. I never felt good enough to really belong out there. It doesn’t make much sense, since I scored better than average and a lot of people envied my game, but I always felt that if I was just a little better or a little more consistent, then I’d feel really good. I’d be satisfied with my game. But I never was. It was always “One of these days I’ll get it” or “One day I’ll get there” and now here I am. I can’t play anymore, and I never got there.
I met a whole lot of different people out on the course. That was one of the best things about the game. But aside from my regular partners and a few others, I don’t feel like I got to know many of those people very well. I know they didn’t really get to know me. At times they probably didn’t want to. I was pretty occupied with my own game most of the time and didn’t have much time for anyone else, especially if I wasn’t playing well.
So why am I writing you this letter anyway, just to complain? Not really. Like I said, my golfing experience wasn’t that bad. But it could have been so much better, and I see that so clearly now. I want to tell you, so you can learn from it. I don’t want you getting to my age and feeling the same regrets I’m feeling now.
I wish, I wish. Sad words, I suppose, but necessary. I wish I could have played the game with more joy, more freedom. I was always so concerned with “doing it right” that I never seemed to be able to enjoy just doing it at all. Who was I trying to please? Certainly not myself, because I never did. I wish I could have been a better playing partner. I wasn’t a bad person to be with, really, but I wish I had been friendlier and gotten to know people better. I wish I could have laughed and joked more and given people more encouragement, made more friends and had a better time.
I’m inside a lot now and I miss the beauty of the outdoors. For years when I was golfing I walked through some of the most beautiful places, and yet I don’t feel I really saw them. Stunning landscapes, trees, flowers, animals, the sky, and the ocean – how could I have missed so much? What was I thinking of that was so important – my grip, back-swing, stance? Sure, I needed to think about those, sometimes, but so often as to be oblivious to so much beauty, so much wonderful greenery? My eyes are failing. I wish I had used them better so I would have more vivid memories now.
So what is it that I’m trying to say? I played the type of game that I thought I should play in order to become a real golfer. But it didn’t work. My game was mine to play, but I gave it away to this other golfer – the self-absorbed one who was always chasing a better score, no matter what.
It’s a wonderful game. Please, don’t give it away. Play a game that you want to play. Play a game that gives you joy and satisfaction and makes you a better person to your family and friends. Play with enthusiasm, play with freedom. Appreciate the beauty of nature and the people around you. All too soon your time will be up, and you won’t be able to play anymore. Play a game that enriches your life – smell the roses.”
Happy golfing!
Golfnutter
