I’m driving down the highway, the mile markers flying by at regular intervals, passing cars on the left. The fundamentals of driving take a backseat in my mind. It’s all become instinctual. Left foot on the clutch, downshift into fourth to get past this guy, alright, shift back to fifth, there, high beams back on. All of it, unconscious, like breathing.
My mind wanders, “What’s next?” I ask myself, already knowing the answer, but not wanting to face it. I know what’s coming, but I shut off the train of thought, afraid of where it will take me. I open the moon roof, the three-quarter crescent floods the cabin with its pale light, as well as the landscape, bereft of snow for the last time for what will feel like years.
I play with the radio dials, switching from top-40 stations to classic rock ones, searching in vain for something to ease my mind. At a loss for a lasting distraction, I force myself to confront what I’m facing.
The rest of my life. That’s what I’m facing. Where will I live? What will I do? The broadest of goals I have in life run through my mind: Make enough to support a family, find a profession that I love and bring my best self to work every day, and have enough time to pursue my passion, golf.
At the mere thought of golf, I flash back to the summer, when I played as much as I could manage. “How many sayings in golf apply to life?” I think to myself. I list a few of them off in my mind: you only have one shot at this, there are no mulligans, you have to play it as it lies, you get good bounces from bad shots, and bad bounces from good shots.
I take comfort in knowing that I have the experience from all those hours I spent out there, learning and improving, to transfer that to where I’m going now.
I see my exit up ahead, put my blinker on, something so rare in New England, and slow down to take the ramp. All of it, again, unconscious.
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