Nirvana

Golf. I like it. Why do I choose to write about it now? Well, unlike the paper I am writing about the economic underpinnings of private entrepreneurship in Zhejiang in the 1980s, I can think of things to say about golf.

I signed up for an on-campus beginner's golf class for a very shallow reason--I figured it would be useful in my future career as a serial schmoozer. Ten weeks of practice on the driving range have made me a true believer. I really like it.

Hitting practice balls on the range has a peculiar Zen-like quality. Bend down. Tee up a ball. Step back. Eye your shot. Walk in and set the driver down. Go through the checklist. Left instep in line with the tee. Club points to the pleat of your pants. Dip your right shoulder down. Pop your left forearm up. Flex the left pec to maintain form. Arch your back like you are shaking what your mama gave you. Weight on the back foot. Start your back swing. Left arm straight. Break at the wrist. Swing your hips. Wind the spring.

Showtime.

Swish your hips back through. Shift weight to the left foot. Natural, remember natural. Unleash the club. Hit half of the tee. Connect with a satisfying thwack. Ohh, great sound. Follow through, always follow through. Hips rotate to 90 degrees. Right heel comes up. You're in a ballet at this point. Stare purposefully into the distance. Track the ball through the bright flood lights. See it plop down on the green at 180 yards. Hold the pose for a while. Soak it in. Oomm... (Double-check to see if you are high. Nope.) ...mmmmmm. Reach down, tee up another ball.