I live in constant dichotomy. On the one hand, I reject the notion of death with every fiber of my being. Call it denial. Call it lunacy. Call it stupidity. I have no intention of ever dying, and I am quite serious about this goal.
On the other hand, I also attempt to live every day like it could be my last, and I believe that have adopted this approach to life with a conviction that few others ever have. Not a single hour of the day goes by that I do not consider my mortality, and these thoughts influence almost everything that I do.
This is likely the result of two near-death experiences and a robbery that included a gun to my head and a trigger being pulled. If you have not actually faced death in a real way, it is difficult to fully comprehend the moment of finality.
I have a friend who knows another near-death survivor, and he claims that his near-death survivor and I lead remarkably similar lives and speak about the nature of existence almost identically. He’s told me that he sometimes wishes that he could also be a near-death survivor because of the drive, ambition and overall outlook on life that our experiences have seemed to bestow upon us. But he’s also said that there are times when he would never wish for such a burden, because he has come to understand the degree to which the prospect of death consumes our lives.
Perspective can change everything.
All of this is to say that it’s with great sadness that it appears that the golfing season has ended for me. After playing in sub-freezing temperatures in the midst of a snow squall on Saturday, I suspect that my clubs will remain in the garage until the spring.
If there is a spring, because I could die at any moment, and if so, that means that I have played my last round of golf ever.
That saddens me deeply.
Then again, I have no intention of ever dying, so I likely have an infinite number of rounds of golf still ahead of me. Nothing to fear. Still plenty of time to shoot below 90 and score that elusive hole-in-one.