Over the past couple of weeks, I've written about my experience with our first round of golf, saying that it wasn't fun, and that it won't be fun until I can unlock the power of my swing.
Now, first of all, I want to say that there is value in knowing yourself. If a certain something isn't going to be satisfying, it isn't going to be satisfying, and you do whatever you need to do to deal with that. If playing rounds at my current level of ability isn't fun, I can certainly wait until I get better at hitting the ball.
But I have been thinking a lot about the experience, and I think I've been operating under a problematic misapprehension, and it's not something I want to continue.
The problem wasn't the situation. Being able to reliably drive the ball 200 yards--or 225, or 250--isn't going to fix anything. My dissatisfaction wasn't inherent in the experience. My dissatisfaction was, essentially, a choice.
If I really want to, I can hold on to the idea that golf is going to be fun when X, Y or Z finally happens. I can hold on to the idea that in this journey there's a destination. But there is no destination. There's only ever the present moment, constantly unfolding. Everything else is memories and dreams. So I can keep waiting for some magical future where everything is perfect, or else I can meet the present moment as it unfolds around me. And will I always enjoy the process? That doesn't seem to match my experience. Sometimes things feel good and sometimes they do not, but feelings pass just like all other things pass in the everchanging present. I can fight with What Is in the present moment, measuring it up against a dream, or I can attend deeply to it. I can choose to be here, or not.
I choose to be here.