The Hole in One

A waving flag in the distance. Taunting me, pointing to a tiny hole in the ground invisible at this distance to the naked eye, daring you to get a hole in one. But it’s mostly into the woods and ruff that the golf ball flies. Although the target is clear in my line of sight, my strokes keep sending the ball careening off in the completely wrong direction. Lodging itself in the mud, or dropping with a tiny kerplunk into the water, the golf ball sometimes seemed to have a mind of its own. Meanwhile, the flag keeps on waving, obnoxiously, jeeringly. I attempt to hit the ball in that direction, hoping that I will strike it with that elusive combination of accuracy and velocity that I am able to watch in slow motion as it travels its parabola of perfection and lands with that unmistakable clatter into the cup.

A hole in one. The Holy Grail of golf and, metaphorically, of life. Everyone, whether they are golfers or not, hopes to experience this moment at least once in their lives. The satisfaction of seeing your perfectly calculated and executed effort rip silently through the air is, to hear that unmistakable kerplinkety-plink-plink that declares a victory beyond anyone’s expectation; the sound that announces a miracle; to hear the gasps and exclamations from the spectators, knowing they had just witnessed something rare and wonderful indeed; to be the author of that moment in which you would be praised as a prodigy, a talent extraordinaire. Sadly, for the average golfer that moment happens only once in 12,000 tries. Even for the pros it is exceedingly difficult (1 in

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3000). To hit two holes in one in a single game puts the odds at 1 in 37 million. In other words, virtually impossible.

The Hole in One phenomenon has given me a lot to think about. For me, it symbolizes perfection and quantifying only makes it seem more unattainable. This raises the question: how important is it? Focusing on it can have disastrous consequences, leading to a kind of tunnel vision that causes us to miss out on other, more important stuff. Maybe if we just opened our eyes a little more, letting a little more of the golf course appear beside us instead of staring straight at the little red fabric waving tauntingly in the wind, the game would come into focus, and it would become less maddening, more joyful. I have always been told that humans are naturally selfish. We do things for our own wants and desires, ignoring the things that come between them. Many times, that one thing that stands between what we desire and us is something strange and unexpected--ourselves. Or rather, our abilities and the fear of failure. The things that meant the world to us fade, becoming nothing as all of that is replaced by the want of attaining the elusive Hole in One. Achievements, no matter how impressive, mean nothing if we take no joy in the process. Nevertheless, there is no harm in hoping and striving for the Hole in One; it just shouldn’t be the end-all-be-all of golf or anything else.

Equating success with perfection becomes so embedded in our brain that the word becomes a kind. A hole in one consists of a golf ball tumbling down a hole, announcing the player succeeding in fulfilling the

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ultimate meaning in golf. Getting the ball in the hole. The flag is something we aim towards, from the rough or from the fairway. It is a goal, a direction we want to be headed. In golf, the winner is decided from the number of strokes they make. The fewer, the better. Many people say that golf is a game of life. Perhaps it is true in some aspects, because of the inner traits that will develop as you learn to become a better player. But is it really? Is our success defined by the number of times it takes to master a skill? Does succeeding in fewer tries make one a winner in life? The answer is clear. NO, there is NOT, at least not in the important things. There isn’t an award for succeeding at being unselfish, or kind, or a good friend, parent, or sibling in the shortest possible time. If we opened our hearts a little more, became a little less selfish and narrow in our thinking, we would be happier, more resilient people. Instead of gripping the club more tightly, we should learn to relax and loosen our grip: to allow ourselves to smile and look in the mirror with pride for the things we accomplished and not the things we didn’t; to have a little more courage, so that failure would lose some of its power over us. Perhaps then, we would finally be able to see that piece of fabric that fluttered around in the wind as what it really is--an encouraging wave, a signpost pointing us in the right direction, and an invitation to try and try again at this wonderful game.

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