Life Lessons from the Twixt Years (Or: I Swear. I’m Not Killing Anyone)

Ever find yourself in a hollow? No matter what you try, you’re lost. Other people offer you advice—they say, “Here’s what I would do in this situation”, or, “I was there once and I got out of it”. It’s happened so often you seek professional advise. You go to sessions, you do the time, you put in the work. And nothing, absolutely nothing works.

And that’s when you put down your clubs and admit it. Golf is hard.

I hope this doesn’t sound too braggy. I’ve been able to work hard in life and overcome just about everything. I’m even good at some things. But twice in my life I’ve tried things that are simply out of my realm: Windsurfing and golf. Well, if you count trying to learn Russian, make that three things. Oh, and raising teenagers. But I digress.

Windsurfing in Russia was never going to be a problem and the kids stopped being teenagers. I was fairly well on the cruise control of avoiding things for which I have no talent when we moved to a neighborhood with two golf courses and we got old so golf was unavoidable.

I found a set of lefty clubs at a garage sale for $25 and I snatched them up alongside a broken recliner and a bean bag chair. I do so love a bargain. But I digress.

That was 10 years ago. How do I remember? Because I took up golf at 50 and I will be 60 this year. 60. It’s too old to be young and too young to be old. It’s the twixt zone of aging. Ten years I’ve been practicing at this game and I literally score the same as I did when I started. Look guys, I know this is a first world problem, I do. But it’s a metaphor for my life. If I can’t get better at taking this stupid ball and getting it into that stupid hole, maybe it’s time to admit I’m old. In golf terms, I’m on the back 9–maybe the back of the back 9. Hey, is that the clubhouse?

Last night, The Husband and I went out to dinner with friends that he’s known since childhood. When he married me 27 years ago these friends seemed a little skeptical. But I digress.

We were at dinner and the subject of Devil Dog came up. For those who have read my blog, you know Devil has been around for awhile. If the rest of us had a very bad 2020, Devil, could he talk, would say ‘hold my beer’. He has never been the same after losing his eye and then getting attacked savagely by another dog. All this to say, Devil’s not in the twixt. Devil is holding the torch from way past twilight. It’s time for Devil’s light to burn out. What I’m saying is that we’re going to have to put Devil down. And it breaks my heart because he’s been good and faithful. But when it’s time to go…

I realized I was saying all of this out loud and The Husband’s friends were horrified. They had that same look when I marched down the aisle. I tried to tell them I wouldn’t put The Husband down when the time came but the damage was done. And now I think I’m going to have to hook Devil up to an Iron Lung just to prove a point. But I digress.

Golf is stupid hard. And so is getting old. And not necessarily in that order. But here’s a lesson for you if your in the twixt: Keep at it because even though it’s hard and won’t get better you can’t stop or people will think you’re going to put your husband down. Or something like that.