Trying Too Hard

‘Do you feel like playing golf tonight?’ she asked.

‘No,’ I said.

‘Are you going to play?’

‘Yes,’ I said.

She smiled. She understood.

I went because I knew it would do me good, but I couldn't care less about what happened. My mood was low. I just hit the ball and felt fatalistic about the outcome. What will be will be. As I holed a three foot putt on the eighteenth for par I realised that I'd won. I had not thought much about what I was doing and it really didn't matter to me whether I won or lost, but suddenly at the denouement I felt pleasure, warmth, satisfaction, even happiness. It felt good to win. It felt even better just to have played well. It's ironic that when we search earnestly for something, like a good round of golf, we just can't find it; but then when we stop looking we stumble upon it. So what should we be trying to achieve on a golf course? What should we be trying to achieve in life?

My life had been about striving: striving to fulfil dreams, striving to make an impact, striving to leave a legacy, striving to make others pleased, striving to gain a good reputation, striving to do a good job. Striving, striving, striving. Nobody could ever accuse me of not trying and I was proud of my work ethic. But where did it lead? Well, it gave me plenty of good experiences and some measure of satisfaction - I have to acknowledge that - but ultimately my destination was the desolation of a breakdown and the darkness of depression. I could see, on the horizon, the golden city of fulfilment. The sun was making it shine and sparkle, and I was getting closer. I just needed to keep going. I'd get there - I would. But the golden city was a mirage. The sun went in. The day ended and nighttime came.

So, stop trying. Is this the key to life? To golf? Surely not. But there is a sense in which I must just do what I do and stop focusing on outcomes. I must read. I must write. I must love. I must give. I must play. I must hit the ball closer to the hole.

Dr. Bob Rotella's advice to Darren Clarke on the practice putting green just before the final round of the 2011 Open at Royal St. George's had been ‘You feel what you feel. Just let whatever happens happen.’

Darren decided to embrace Dr. Bob's advice. 'Thinking about outcome never benefits anybody. Outcome is a consequence of what happens. And if I was in control of what I was trying to do to the best of my ability, each and every shot, then hopefully the outcome would take care of itself. I was unbelievably calm. As the round progressed nothing really bothered me.'   

Darren scored a final round 70 and became Champion Golfer of the Year, winning by three strokes. It was his 20th time of trying.

The words of the wise old statesman of golf, Tom Watson, drip with experience when he says ‘If you want to win, you have to be really good at waiting, and in order to wait you have to accept.’

So that's it then: Do what you do. Feel what you feel. Don't think about the outcome. Let whatever happens happen. Accept. And wait.

It's not a recipe for success - because there is no recipe for success. Whatever we do, for some - maybe most - dreams don't come true. The mantra that all you have to do for your dreams to come true is work hard is a myth pedalled by the few who have, with an element of happenstance it must be said, fulfilled their fantastical ambitions. For the rest, we don't win major golf tournaments - or even the club medal - our businesses don't become multi-nationals, we don't become fathers or mothers, we don't win elections, we don't marry our one true love, we don't get our books published, we don't live happily ever after, we don't even get promotion at work. For we are at the mercy of our fellow human beings, and we humans are notoriously poor judges of one another and what really matters.

But I must do what I do. I write one word after another. I hit one shot after another. The words may never be published. The ball may never reach the hole. But trying seems a whole lot more fun when you accept that you can't control the outcome. It's a good recipe for living a life, and it's the only one I can follow anymore.