by thewriterneedsdirection

I hadn’t been back home long, it was one of those things you instantly didn’t know if you regretted or not. Moving back in with your parents that is. At twenty five you had bigger hopes for yourself, but with every other Tom, Dick & Harry with a BA in theatre. There wasn’t much work left for me in what I actually wanted to do. I had become impatient with internships that were unpaid and had me literally living hand to mouth with part time service jobs like waiting or bar tending. So when my time was up. It was undoubtedly up. Which leads me in my first two days of being back heading down a long winding road towards a hotel. The hotel was my first job, back when I was 16. This made it more and more difficult due to seeing faces there from school who hadn’t gone into higher education and just worked. This isn’t a bad thing at all, it just made me think for all the debt I had gotten into that I’d have done better for myself. Through this winding road leads you to a golf course. It got me thinking about golf. How these massive eighteen holes, spanning thousands of acres, and your there with your tiny ball and your thin metallic club and you have to hit that ball for miles to get it to where you wanted to go. You have to do this and repeat the motion SEVENTEE N other times… in as little strokes as possible to win. Then I looked around, it was a Tuesday and everyone who was playing seemed at least over Forty, looked considerably wealthy. It got me wondering if the creator of Golf knew that Golf was a metaphor for life. You sometimes get past this hole quicker than the last. You sometimes get a triple bogey or stuck in the sand pit. But if in life your patient and complete every hole one by one. You get to the end, you have a beer. Then for the rest of your days: You play Golf.