Good Enough

"Don't let perfection stand in the way of good enough." 

From centuries of well-spoken thoughts by Voltaire, Confucius, 

Shakespeare 

This quote has been bouncing around in my brain for a couple of weeks, after it linked up with another random question about how the drive for perfectionism affects my golf shots, blogs, storytelling performances, and daily life.

Arlo & Janis 10/29/19 Norman Transcript

Nine years ago when I began blogging my writing wasn't perfect, and my stories and grammar still are not perfect. I realized that in my first few months of writing that IF I wrote/rewrote, then edited/reedited my hand would never push the 'publish' button and my blog would go empty.  By taking a deep breath I discovered I could hit the publish button. 

My purpose of writing the blog, originally, was to write stories that I could then tell in public for paid performances. A few years later, I felt like my stories contained value. Though not perfect they sounded good enough to me. 

     "Yesterday, as we walked, the muted fall leaves scurried like little mice across the streets, under our feet, around the corners, and down from above.  Still it was quiet and the animals in the neighborhood slept on. My mind, too, was quiet, until suddenly a yard sprinkler system came on full blast. Shivers crept up my wet side as I danced to the right and out into the center of the street. Lucy was faster and never a drop touched her fur."




This story became stinkier the longer I walked that morning with Lucy, and it could most certainly stand a revision. If I had waited on perfection the story,  Dancing in the Breeze, might have been neglected and eventually forgotten due to time restraints and frustrations, and this delightful memory lost. 




In the last decade of playing golf, working out, going to physical therapy I discovered that I could not hit the ball with the efficiency and perfection I once knew; I could not work out as long as I demanded of myself; I could not

Dornick Hills cliff hole #16 where I could not hit my 8 iron over it from 100 yards.

perform some of the exercises they gave me.  All of these could nots finally stung me with needles of anger and frustration. One day in early spring I began to say to myself "that shot wasn't perfect but it sure didn't hurt me (both literally and figuratively)."  I made a tally mark on my scorecard of the shot that was good enough.  

In the beginning, I found myself critical of what constituted a 'good enough' shot. On a scale of 1-10 (think of Bo Derek) I expected a shot to be an 8,9,10 which correlated to 5-8 shots out of 45 being good enough. 

It's amazing how happy I can be when I realize that the good shots out weighed the bad. 

"This is not a test," I reminded myself. It is a game, a pleasant reminder of life. So...The next few rounds of golf became more relaxed and more tally marks appeared. Week by week I began to find more positive things about my golf score, and transferred that positivity to my work outs. Some of which I found that just finishing was good enough. 

A close friend from years of teaching, writing, and performing designed a t-shirt for the OU/Texas game this year and gave them to several friends.  When she posted her design on Facebook she made the note: It's not perfect but it is done.    

The Golf Gypsy: Letter to Dad

Dear Dad,

I wish you could be here to see the changes in golf in the last thirty years.  You'd be so impressed by the young women who can hit the ball 275+ off the tee, and they might be only fifteen years old!  Even my driver distance improved with the new technology in golf clubs and golf balls. When I was fifty-five I could still hit the ball farther than I did at eighteen.  I've kept my old persimmon MacGregor woods as a reminder of the beauty and difficulty of times past, but the heavy leather bags that tore at my shoulders have long since been given away.

This summer while playing in the WOGA Stroke Play Amateur at Dornick Hills, one of your old favorites,  I saw an old woman playing golf.  She swung the club exactly like you might have taught her, a smooth rhythmical swing that looks effortless, but judging from the distance I watched the ball fly, she hit the ball at least 10-30 yards less than a younger women.  This old woman played the cliff hole like an aging tree, moving stiffly in the wind. I felt the cracks of her spine that reflected the rugged cliff facing her.

Her 8 iron could no longer carry the cliff, her eyes seemed to have tears in them, but her resolve moved her stubbornly to the next shot and the next until her ball found its way to the top and onto the green.  Only then did I realize that I was that old woman, not someone I could point to and say, "When I'm that old I'll ...."

I sobbed silently that day, but kept my head steady and putted with skill and focus to make up for the lost yardage.

Dad, you've been on my mind constantly this summer because I remember with love and sorrow how difficult it was for me to watch you age.  Now I am understanding your pain daily when I get out of bed or play golf.  I watched how your burned and scared arms from that childhood fire stiffened your wrists causing you to cringe with every golf shot or hammer stroke. I noticed when your hips refused to rotate how the pain shot down your legs causing you to explain the "hitch in the get along", but you never stopped playing golf, Dad.  Sometimes weeks passed between rounds of golf.  You slowed down, took longer naps. Most importantly, you persevered and taught your two daughters by example.  Thank you, Dad

The Golf Gypsy, Letty

Golf Gypsy and the Rat Bastard Reunion

Not many people have friends who give them "rats" for surprise gifts, but I'm fortunate to have friends who know that I love to tell a good story, and so "Rat Bastard" came to me over five years ago needing a home and acceptance.

Rat tours every golf course proudly covering the head of my five wood. Who can blame a rat for admiring the scenery at PGA West where the mountains cascade into the desert surroundings and nature's critters roam the golf courses, but when she strays from the fairway in search of adventure I sometimes pinch her tail to show her my disgust with her errant shots. On moments like that I can blame the rat for a poor shot, but when she's good she's very very good and I compliment her by saying, "Great shot Phyllis," the lady who gave me Rat.  I've found that I get better shots out of her when I reinforce those great moments.  

So imagine my surprise this summer when I looked for my golf bag on a golf cart in a mass of carts lined up for a tournament, and casually walked up to the cart carrying the "Rat." But the bag was not mine. There were two "Rats" in the world. I laughed, but time was escaping me and I needed to be efficient. My partner and I hit some practice shots, putted then after announcements drove out to our tee box. At last the other two ladies drove out, and there she was, the second "Rat Bastard."  I couldn't believe my eyes and to hear the lady tell her story, I laughed even more.

She bought her first "rat" and enjoyed watching the faces of her friends when she'd throw the club cover on the ground and the tail would flop or slide just like a rat. Her friends screamed or jumped and she laughed. Our stories were so similar.

She then told me, "Once I lost Rat at a golf course and panicked. Luckily, by the end of the day someone had turned the 'ugly club cover' into the golf shop, and they called me. I drove 45 miles back to that course that evening just to get my loveable club cover. After that I went online looking for a second 'Rat Bastard' cover just in case.  I had no luck until someone in the Daphne company gave me a list of where they sold them.  Then I called each golf shop until I found one unsold rat. Now, I own two rat club covers."

So that day the rats enjoyed a ride around Dornick Hills. For the most part each rat performed with grace and humor, and their proud owners each found another soul mate on the golf course with a great sense of humor.