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Do I play golf?  Not since I tried “pitch and putt” once or twice when I was in my teens.  So, is it weird that I enjoy watching golf on Television and even have a favorite golfer I root for on the PGA tour?

My father, who played golf several times a month, typically scored in the mid-90s, which is about average for someone who plays recreationally. In golf, the lower your score the better. Professionals playing on the PGA tour average in the very low 70’s.

The golfer I personally root for is Colin Morikawa, an American who is 27 years old and lives in the Los Angeles area.  He’s won a few tournaments, and lately has finished in the top ten in many professional tournaments.  It’s a lucrative position for a young golfer. The winner’s purse is usually in the millions, but Morikawa can earn as much as $300,000 for just finishing in the top five.  And that doesn’t count additional income from sponsors.

But still – chasing a little round ball around a beautiful park to have it finally drop into a small hole while everyone is watching?  Does that sound like fun?  Not to me, especially when I consider that only three or four shots are often the difference between first place and third or fourth. I can’t imagine doing that for a living. Especially when it’s all so public. Talk about pressure!

When I mistakenly type the wrong date in an email no one knows but the recipients, and they might not even notice. But when Phil Mikelson misses a crucial shot in the final three holes and loses the lead in a big tournament, everyone in the world who cares about golf knows about it.

Tennis anyone? All that grunting and running around the court while trying to hit a ball travelling at 120 miles per hour. No thanks. The same goes for baseball and football and soccer and…

Am I weird because I prefer watching to playing? Writing about sports might just be the closest I’ll ever get to participating. Unless you consider poetry slams a sport.

Alan

Yesterday, I found myself contemplating my life. Wouldn’t it be nice, I thought, to be fifty years younger again?  In my case, that would mean I’d be 34 years old.

Of course, there are details.  Chances are I wouldn’t make the same choices and have the same opportunities and experiences, and that would mean I wouldn’t have the same life, same spouse, same bank account.  I’d have to go through the same or similar experiences I did years ago all over again.  Would I wind up, 50 years from now, in the same place, or become the same person. Who knows?

Thank goodness this is a thought experiment, and not (as far as I know) reality.  I really like my life, and wouldn’t trade it for another, even if that included the “bonus” of living an extra half a century.  I think the possibility of me having a better life is unlikely. Consequently, the chance of having a different, longer life is not appealing.

It became popular in the 1970’s to “live in the moment.”  But that is something I’ve always done.

I have a friend I have seen regularly for more than forty years.  When we’ve been apart for more than a week or two she used to say, “I missed you.”  When I don’t respond with the proper words, such as “I missed you too” she used to feel rejected.  But when I live in the moment, I’m paying attention to where I am, who I’m with, and whatever it is I’m thinking or feeling at that time.  I seldom focus on someone who is not physically present.  (I admit that from time to time I’ll Google the name of a friend I’ve lost touch with over the years, basically to see where they are, and if they’re still alive.  I’m happy to report that most of them are.)

The passage of the days and hours is highly subjective.  Doesn’t it seem that when you’re enjoying yourself time passes quickly, and when you’re bored it slows to a crawl?  In that sense, my life has been rather short.

Thought experiment aside, I do my best to treasure each moment, even when it contains a lesson I’d rather not learn. Because in the bigger picture I wouldn’t have gotten where I am without all the choices I’ve made in the past.  And that certainly includes the mistakes.

So when an angel, or devil, appears and asks me if I’d like to be young again, my answer is:

“Thanks, but no thanks.  I really like the life I have.”

Alan

And I’m not talking about the cost of admission, but rather the emotional cost of parking.

The Hollywood Bowl is a 100-year-old Los Angeles cultural institution. It has hosted many renowned singers and bands over the years, notably including the Beatles (remember them?).  The Hollywood Bowl now seats 17,500 guests.  It’s located in a canyon near Hollywood Boulevard and Highland but offers only about 1,750 parking spaces on-site (this is my own estimate, which may be too high).  Even though their shows often sell out, they only have parking for about 20% of the audience (assuming two in a car).

For that reason, the Bowl provides “off-site” parking.  I live in the San Fernando Valley, so I can drive to the Eastern end of Ventura Boulevard, park in the large lot there, and take a 20-minute bus ride to the Bowl.  Last night I met my son at the venue to enjoy a performance that began at 6:00 pm.  By 9:00 pm we were both exhausted, and he had to be at work early the next day.  We walked to where he had parked his car at a private lot six blocks away. It’s a lot where the cars can easily leave at any time and are not blocked in by the hundreds of other cars parked around them.  He then drove out of his way to drop me at the Ventura Boulevard parking lot where I had parked my car earlier in the evening.

And there my adventure began.

First, I had to find my car in the dark.  I thought I knew where it was, but my car always seems to move around by itself after the sun goes down.

After ten minutes of searching, I finally found my car, but it was totally blocked in by other cars.  So I sat in the driver’s seat for one hour (thank goodness for the solitaire game on my cell phone), waiting until other drivers showed up to let themselves out, and release me from Hollywood Bowl Parking Prison.  I left the Bowl at 9:00 pm and finally got home after 11:30 pm.

One benefit from watching sports events and concerts on TV is that when the show is over you’re already home.  And a hamburger doesn’t cost $18.00.

Also – an added benefit – I don’t have to search for my car, then sit in the dark for an hour.

Grumble mumble.

Alan