A week ago today we made a Pretty Big Change. Now that most of the extra trinkets are put away (water bottle, anyone??), the jacket emblazoned for the last time, and our autographed t-shirts tumble in the dryer, I guess it’s really pretty much over.
Thirteen years ago we inadvertently started an annual tradition of convincing 15-30 of our friends to spend a day – an entire day – playing miniature golf with us. As things do, it evolved over time and became a Pretty Big Thing, at least to us. We had prizes, awards, trinkets, t-shirts, a leader board, customized score cards, customized golf pencils, a dedicated laptop to quickly compute cumulative scores and handicaps, and, of course, a website. The tournament was our focus every August and early September. But, as lives and families and health and stamina all changed, it became clear to me and Rob that it was time for us to stop. Time to call it quits and do something – we don’t know what yet – different. Neither Rob nor I are huge fans of change. But we have gotten better at sensing when a time has come to move on.
Years ago I decided to leave what in retrospect was the best job in my career. I had an awesome boss, enjoyed my co-workers, and was treated well by the company. But I got bored and restless and itchy after seven years and decided it was time for a change. With nothing to hate about the job I was leaving, I cried over my pot stickers all the way through to the fortune cookies when Rob took me out to dinner after my last day. The waiter, who knew us as regulars, kept a concerned yet respectful distance. Five years later, Rob and I got the sense we didn’t belong in California anymore. Hard to explain; our lives had just changed with my involuntary early retirement and we got this nagging feeling that we didn’t fit there anymore. So with excitement and nervousness and tears and hope and sadness, we waved good-bye to dear friends and made a Really Big Change and found Woodhaven.
I know the nostalgia and occasional moments of “was it really time?” over the past week are all part of the experience of change. I know bringing our stewardship of the tournament to a close was the right thing to do, confirmed by my inability to get off the couch for two days due to aches and pain and soreness. But sometimes it’s hard to have clarity through the blur of tears.
2 comments:
When something wonderful ends, how easy it can be to regret its end rather than rejoice that it happened at all. Yes, having your leadership of this tournament end causes a few sniffles, and not just for you two. But don't let yourselves forget the value of what you created (which, I'm convinced, will continue beyond your tenure). You kept a whole community of friends together for over a decade, who might have drifted apart otherwise. And created a few new friendships along the way. Don't forget to focus on that!
Steve, thank you. Those are beautiful words and sentiments. You're right, of course, that it's much easier to focus on the loss than what was gained in the process. We truly hope the gathering continues in some fashion, because we'd so miss seeing everyone each year.
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