When I stopped trying so hard, I had the most fun.
I thought that if I stopped trying so hard,
nothing would be left.
The more time you put in, the better you get.
The more money you spend, the further you can advance.
The more you keep at it,
it will pay off someday.
That's what I believed.
I started golf six months ago.
Until then,
I had never even held a club.
Both inside and outside the company,
golf is often a common topic of conversation.
If you start when you're older,
it can become a hobby you enjoy for a long time.
I thought that, but,
if I'm going to do it someday, now is fine.
It's also a way to start conversations with people.
If I was going to start anyway,
I wanted to give it my all from the beginning.
I went to the driving range for two hours every day.
I also took professional lessons.
At first, it was fun.
Hitting the ball further than yesterday.
The number of times I hit it well increased.
Just by practicing,
I felt like I was changing.
But when I went out to the course, it was different.
I couldn't hit the balls I could hit at the range.
Far from getting better than last time,
the number of days my score got worse increased.
Even after continuing for half a year,
my score hardly changed.
People around me
"That's just how golf is."
they would laugh.
I couldn't laugh.
The time I spent practicing.
The money I paid for lessons.
Since I had piled up all that,
it would be strange if there were no results.
Without realizing it,
that thought had been born.
Originally,
I wanted a way to talk to people.
I hoped it would become a hobby I could enjoy for a long time.
That should have been enough.
In fact, by starting golf,
I was able to talk to people at work I didn't usually talk to.
With people outside the company too,
conversations expanded with golf as a topic.
The purpose for starting,
might have already been fulfilled.
Before I knew it,
I was being chased by the thought that I "must improve."
More than whether it was fun,
I wanted results that matched the time and money I spent.
Every time I made a mistake, my heart would race.
Even when I went to the course,
I became afraid of the next shot.
Something I started to enjoy,
gradually turned into something that tormented me.
Since I've come this far,
I should try a little harder.
If I quit,
I felt like the time and money I'd spent would be wasted.
On the other hand,
imagining myself practicing for two hours again tomorrow made me feel heavy.
It wasn't that I wanted to continue because it was fun.
I just didn't want to waste
what I had spent so far.
For that reason,
should I continue to spend more time and money?
Why was I continuing,
I didn't know anymore.
That's it, I'll quit.
The practice I had been doing every day,
I stopped completely.
I stopped going to lessons too.
The next time I held a club was
at the company competition three months later.
On the first hole tee ground,
I held a driver for the first time in three months.
It's natural that I can't hit it.
When I thought that,
the tension in my shoulders faded.
Even if I made a mistake, I didn't dwell on it.
I talked with my friends,
and walked while looking at the scenery in front of me.
That day's golf
was the most fun I'd ever had.
While seeking results,
even the things I liked,
I had turned into "things I must work hard at."
Even if I couldn't do it well,
it's okay to enjoy it.
When I started,
that should have been fine.
I finished the round,
and returned the club to the caddy bag.
I don't think I'll resume practice.
I don't want to go back to the days
when I was hitting balls for two hours every day.
Even so,
I felt like I wanted to participate if invited next time.
There was no need to restart
what I had quit in the same way.
While keeping my distance,
it's okay to just pick up the parts I liked.
In the car on the way home,
a few things I had quit along the way came to mind.
By the time I got home,
it was dark outside the window.
On my sunburnt neck and arms,
the heat of the day still remained.
When I entered the living room,
the cold air from the air conditioner touched my skin.
On my flushed body,
that breeze felt good.
I sat at my desk and opened my notebook.
On the white page,
I wrote "Things I quit once."
Golf practice.
Muscle training.
Walking.
Every time I remembered,
I added them one by one.
A little while ago,
it might have looked like a list of things I couldn't keep up.
Tonight,
it looked like a list of things I could choose again.
I held my pen again,
and put a small circle next to one of them.
It doesn't have to be two hours every day.
Looking at the small circle,
I closed the notebook for that day.