There are many markers in life, milestones that tell you something about yourself, where you stand. Most of us get revelations – big and small – along the way. It may be a lesson learned, an accommodation that maybe we don’t want to make, or a recognition that we either should or shouldn’t be doing something in particular.
These markers come in many forms. It’s possible there’s a book you finished recently that has a particular passage that resonates, and you choose to incorporate that into your daily meanderings. On your morning jog you may find the hills are starting to kill your knees, so you choose to walk the inclines instead or purchase knee supports to continue plowing ahead while alleviating the jarring. Perhaps you grow tired of a friend constantly complaining and you decide to point out to him the folly of his behavior and you wait to see if he changes his attitude.
Regardless of the time, place, or type of marker you encounter, what follows is some form of change. Typically, it’s subtle. We don’t change dramatically. It’s all about increments.
Over the past year or so, this type of accommodation has occurred to me regarding my golf game. The essential lesson for me has been, “You can’t hit the ball the way you used to.”
Sounds simple. Sounds like something a human can figure out and then move to a new level. It’s not that simple.
So much is involved. Your ego, for one. Your sense of yourself, for another. You see yourself as being able to do something you could when you were 31 or even 48, and when you get into your 60s, that just ain’t the case anymore. The body joints don’t function the same. The muscles don’t torque the way they used to. Your flexibility decreases.
All of those changes decrease your ability to crush a golf ball. Watch the pros, and you’ll see the difference from the regular tour to the senior tour. Take a look at the old codgers, and we’re swinging like a joint that has no oil.
The blues are the championship tees in golf, the white tees are considered the men’s regular tees, then courses now have tees to shorten the holes for the elders, often gold tee boxes, then there are the front tees – the red. Long ago, my age bracket moved away from the blues and to the whites. The current adaption to not being able to hit the ball the way you used to means moving to the golds.
This has happened in increments and not without psychological and emotional difficulty for me. You want to think you can still crush the ball with the 40-year-old golfers. And, that is not the case. You can’t kid yourself.
I play with a good friend who I’ll term J. He is 15 years younger than me. When I want to move up to the gold tees on an egregiously long hole that is totally unfair to me at my age, he gives me the poke. He mocks me. Blows smoke my way. I laugh, defend myself. But, I also feel like I should compete and go back to play the white tees on holes way too long for my age.
These tee box decisions may sound trivial, but actually are difficult. You confront what you are no longer capable of doing. Face your personal limits, regardless of your competitive drive. I haven’t fully figured it out yet, but am in process of adapting, letting go, still challenging myself and not letting J get away with harassing me too much.
I don’t think any of us fully figure these types of things out. We adapt, sometimes under duress and sometimes due to our intelligence, which helps us make good decisions. Regardless of the impetus, you shift to a new plateau, enjoy a different vista and if you’re lucky, get to savor it for a number of years before the next adjustment.
These markers come in many forms. It’s possible there’s a book you finished recently that has a particular passage that resonates, and you choose to incorporate that into your daily meanderings. On your morning jog you may find the hills are starting to kill your knees, so you choose to walk the inclines instead or purchase knee supports to continue plowing ahead while alleviating the jarring. Perhaps you grow tired of a friend constantly complaining and you decide to point out to him the folly of his behavior and you wait to see if he changes his attitude.
Regardless of the time, place, or type of marker you encounter, what follows is some form of change. Typically, it’s subtle. We don’t change dramatically. It’s all about increments.
Over the past year or so, this type of accommodation has occurred to me regarding my golf game. The essential lesson for me has been, “You can’t hit the ball the way you used to.”
Sounds simple. Sounds like something a human can figure out and then move to a new level. It’s not that simple.
So much is involved. Your ego, for one. Your sense of yourself, for another. You see yourself as being able to do something you could when you were 31 or even 48, and when you get into your 60s, that just ain’t the case anymore. The body joints don’t function the same. The muscles don’t torque the way they used to. Your flexibility decreases.
All of those changes decrease your ability to crush a golf ball. Watch the pros, and you’ll see the difference from the regular tour to the senior tour. Take a look at the old codgers, and we’re swinging like a joint that has no oil.
The blues are the championship tees in golf, the white tees are considered the men’s regular tees, then courses now have tees to shorten the holes for the elders, often gold tee boxes, then there are the front tees – the red. Long ago, my age bracket moved away from the blues and to the whites. The current adaption to not being able to hit the ball the way you used to means moving to the golds.
This has happened in increments and not without psychological and emotional difficulty for me. You want to think you can still crush the ball with the 40-year-old golfers. And, that is not the case. You can’t kid yourself.
I play with a good friend who I’ll term J. He is 15 years younger than me. When I want to move up to the gold tees on an egregiously long hole that is totally unfair to me at my age, he gives me the poke. He mocks me. Blows smoke my way. I laugh, defend myself. But, I also feel like I should compete and go back to play the white tees on holes way too long for my age.
These tee box decisions may sound trivial, but actually are difficult. You confront what you are no longer capable of doing. Face your personal limits, regardless of your competitive drive. I haven’t fully figured it out yet, but am in process of adapting, letting go, still challenging myself and not letting J get away with harassing me too much.
I don’t think any of us fully figure these types of things out. We adapt, sometimes under duress and sometimes due to our intelligence, which helps us make good decisions. Regardless of the impetus, you shift to a new plateau, enjoy a different vista and if you’re lucky, get to savor it for a number of years before the next adjustment.