You will never grow a pomegranate tree if you plant a peach pit.

The pomegranate quip came from one of my textile manufacturers in India many years ago. First name, Jasbir. He likened the game of golf to the game of life – you get out what you put in. I wasn’t playing golf yet and had no clue what he was talking about, but now that I do,  I agree – with one qualification. A modicum of eye-hand coordination is essential for golf or you may as well kill yourself now. Otherwise, as with any acquired skill, you have to log the miles. Many dedicated miles. Pomegranate tree. Peach pit. You will never be a ___ handicap if you don’t practice.

The first week of the Ladies Montauk League I had the good fortune to play with someone I knew from a few years back and thank goodness for that. She recalled that I actually could hit a golf ball once upon a time (22 handicap, me/10, she) and was witnessing, with a mixture of amusement and bewilderment, yours truly trying to figure out where the heck her swing tempo, hip turn – and yes club-face – had boarded a plane and gone in the past year.  (Bora Bora.)

This Zen Mistress of the game had a soothing influence on me as I went in frustrated search of things past. It’s just a game, she said. It’s not the measure of who you are. Each shot is it’s own discreet event. When it’s done, it’s done. You move on to the next shot or next hole and reinvent yourself again. Stay in the moment. Focus. Let your intuition do the rest. Check, Eckhart Tolle in a skirt, Yoda Of The Links. May the force be with you.

Don’t ask me why I thought I could put down my clubs for the better part of two years and come back like nothing happened – like there was no gap – like the game of golf would give me a pass and exact no revenge because I’m so special.  A lot has happened. A business was launched. Shoes had to be shipped – products designed – miles foregone.

One day a week of this (#*&@!#*)  game is not going to be enough to pull my handicap out of the ditch. I’ll get out exactly what I put in – and come to terms with the fact that logging enough miles right now is not in the cards. Other stuff to do. Wreaking havoc from the tee box  once a week – with the occasional glimpse of The Sweet Spot – will have to suffice. Fore.