The games we play, the hobbies in which we immerse ourselves, the books we read, all seem to reflect upon life in general.
As you know, I play golf. Twice a week these days, Mondays and Fridays. We, the poorly attired and motley-looking, gather in the parking lot of a local golf course on these mornings in hopes of a few hours of enjoyment and fine companionship. We rarely attain either, it seems. But close... close enough to bring us back again for the next time.
We are all of a certain age. Retirement. A few of us still work, either out of boredom or mild necessity (food and lodging being somewhat important) but we are all either retired or old enough to have done so.
A precious few of us can actually play the game reasonably well. Another few have a reasonable number of good shots each round that we can modestly brag about at the end. Yet another few are well beaten most every time. We all return again, it seems, regardless of the last game's outcome.
Life is similar. Some of us play it well enough (those who excel at it are often placed on pedestals as examples of greatness), some of us have moments of satisfaction and even exhilaration, and some struggle with it every day. Only a relative handful give it up out of frustration. The rest of us keep playing... even in the rain.
A Night Unremembered
7 years ago