Being There

It’s amazing how sore I can get from simply driving my car. Went to Houston Monday, came back Tuesday. Had to rest when I got home. Made one stop coming and one stop going just to stretch my legs, walk around, and get some water. I can remember the days when I could do a 13 hour trip with only two stops for gas. Age can really do a number on the human body.

Oh, well. It is what it is. I was in Houston to take a golf lesson. Friends ask why I couldn’t get one closer to home. The answer is simple. My teacher lives in Houston. His name is Marty Fleckman. He was a standout golfer at the University of Houston where I attended college and he won an NCAA title among other honors. He teaches at BlackHorse Golf Club, which is close to my oldest son’s home. So, I came in Monday, visited with family, ate a nice dinner, and went to talk with Marty about hitting golf balls.

It may seem odd at my age that I’d want to try and improve my game, but I do. It’s part of my DNA, I guess, the part that says if you’re going to do this you might as well try to be good at it, a strange competitive gene. But it’s basically me competing with myself, and I like the process of analyzing and thinking about what I’m doing and then convincing my body to do it. Because when it happens and it works, I feel fresh and, in the moment. And being there, in the moment, content with an accomplishment is a good place to be in general. Living. Today. Satisfied and happy.

John W. Wilson is the author of The Long Goodbye: A Caregiver’s Tale