Are there days in your life that happened many years ago that you can vividly still recall? You can feel the wind, the warmth of the day, the smells and colors. You can remember what clothes you had on. You can remember who was with you.
Well, our most memorable days are usually our most emotional ones. During those days, we were challenged or provoked, positively or negatively.
And so it was on that March day in 1992 that I was experiencing one of “those days” on the golf course. It was a Friday and I was hopeful that I would have a quality round of golf before heading in for a nice meal around 6 p.m., the start of a relaxing evening. But it just wasn’t to be.
For you see, on that day I was experiencing the repetitive misfortune of hitting my golf ball either in fairway sand bunkers or green side bunkers. As I recall, on the 18 holes I played that day, I “succeeded” in landing in 16 bunkers. And, it gets worse. What really got me riled up is that I LACKED THE SKILL to get out of those sand bunkers.
So there I was: for 4 and a half hours, seemingly living in the sandpit of hell. I was miserable. I was embarrassed. It was humid, I was hot. I was full of gritty sand, seemingly lodged in undiscovered body crevices. I lost every bet to every person I was playing against that day. And by the 18th hole, after paying off all my losses and not taking it out on my playing partners, I walked to the corner of the driving range where the practice bunker awaited the arrival of my sorry ass. Beleaguered and beaten. The sand had won.
Folks, it was there that I “lost it.” Yep I boiled over, got pissed off, or, as we say down in South Louisiana, I caught the “red ass.”
I proceeded to have a nice long, enthusiastic talk with myself and decided in that fury of self-dialogue that I was not going home until I learned how to hit a shot out of the sand bunker. So I called my wife and told her my plan. “I am dropping 500 golf balls into the practice sand bunker, and I’m going hit every darn one of them.” It was a short conversation, as you might expect.
I rounded up 500 balls and began to: PRACTICE!
Question: Are you mature enough to accept the fact that there are areas that you lack skill?