Blooming Late

          During my years as a stay-at-home mom, I was always looking for something to fill my day.

Sewing clothes for the kids – a futile effort if ever there was one, since they outgrew them so quickly. Making all our own bread – while my sainted husband ate his sandwich at work with a knife and fork since it didn’t have the elasticity of gratifyingly spongy store bread.

          Then I began working full time and there was no problem filling the day. I was usually working on a degree, the beds still needed clean sheets, the kids still liked to be fed and had games to be driven to, and once I was teaching, there were always those piles of papers to grade and lessons to plan.

          When it came, I welcomed retirement with open arms. Except I’ve never been good at empty days, and you can only eat lunch out so often, so I looked around for new endeavors. I became a regular at our museum’s lecture days. I joined a writing group. I took up golf.

When I picked up last week’s The New Yorker, one particular article really called to me.  It’s a review of “Beginners: The Joy and Transformative Power of Lifelong Learning” by Tom Vanderbilt.  The reviewer, Margaret Talbot, writes,

There’s the fear of being bad at something you think is worthwhile – and, maybe even more so, being seen to be bad at it – when you have accustomed yourself to knowing, more or less, what you’re doing.

As the ball whizzes by me one more time on the Pickleball court, or the shot I’d visualized on the golf course disappears into the bushes, I’ve come to realize that I’m never going to be particularly good at these things. With luck, I might be adequate.

I’ve finally learned to enjoy golf, Pickleball provides me with exercise and conversation, and I’m already compiling notes for my fourth book. Perfection is over-rated.