Lost On The Green

A golfer, I’m not.

But my favorite movie is all about golf and it’s all about life.

In The Legend of Bagger Vance, Rannulph Junuh became a town hero because of his gift for the game of golf, but he soon lost that gift–his “authentic swing”–when he went to war.  Haunted by the personal demons of his grief, Junuh lives in isolation as he tries to forget and be forgotten.

But the past beckons as Junuh is soon called upon to play in a exhibition match against two champion golfers.  The story takes place shortly after The Great Depression hits The United States, and the town needs the match to revitalize the local economy and wants it to restore the pride of the city of Savanah, Georgia.  And this burden soon rests solely on the shoulders of Junuh.

 But Junuh has a serious problem.

“I lost my swing,” he says.

Of course, there is nothing wrong with him physically.  But Bagger Vance sums up the importance of the swing while he and a little boy named Hardy–who is also Junuh’s biggest fan–are out measuring the golf course for Junuh the night before the match.

“Inside each and every one of us is one true, authentic swing. Somethin’ we was born with, somethin’ that’s ours and ours alone. Somethin’ that can’t be taught to you or learned. Somethin’ that got to be remembered. Over time, the world can rob us of that swing. It gets buried inside us under all our wouldas and couldas and shouldas. Some folk even forget what they swing was like.

“Some folk even forget what they swing was like.“

After a month of trying to finish editing my manuscript, I have discovered that I too have lost my swing.  The personal demons of my grief have become too much.

Some of them I still can’t talk about.  Like my cousin.  The first anniversary of his suicide was last month.  One afternoon, he got drunk, he put his car in the garage, he closed the door, and…he started the car.

But I still can’t talk about it.  My grief was so overwhelming that I went straight from shock into denial.  And I have been there ever since.  I have reasoned why he did it.  But I still can’t talk about it.

I want to talk about it.  I’ve tried to talk about it.  But it’s hard to find someone who will shut up long enough to listen, who won’t start telling me what I should do, won’t start throwing cliches at me.

Most people are so naive about grief they think they can put a Band-Aid over a bullet wound and the pain will stop.  Well, it doesn’t stop.

So…I lost my swing.

For a novelist to lose his swing, it’s like knowing the names of your best friend, your family, your children.  And you know the things that have happened to them, but you don’t know who they are.  Because one day you just woke up and you realized that you forgot every conversation you ever had with them about how all the things that have happened to them have affected them.

I know the names of my characters.  I know what happened to them.

But I don’t know who they are anymore.

I lost my characters.

I lost my swing.

A few years ago, when I got stuck on a problem while writing, I would take off my shoes, take out my hearing aids, take off my glasses, and lay down.  But I wouldn’t sleep.

I would search.

And I would stay there for however long it took for me to find my characters.  With all my other senses completely blocked off, I had no distractions.  And once I found my characters, I could let them tell the story.

I would, as Bagger put it, “stop thinking without falling asleep.”

Truth be told, I have played golf once in my entire life.  My first shot landed on the green.  Two putts later, I let the ball go in the hole.  Haven’t played since.  Never saw the point.

But I remember that moment.  My first swing.  How clear it was.  How settled I was.  I had a good grip on my world.  I was writing then.  I had my swing.  My authentic shot.

“There’s a perfect shot out there tryin’ to find each and every one of us. All we got to do is get ourselves out of its way. Let it choose us. You gotta look with soft eyes. See the place where the tides and the seasons…and the turnin’ of the earth…all come together. Where everythin’ that is…becomes one.  You gotta seek that place with your soul.”

But when the soul is in agony, it’s tough to get yourself out of the way.

I lost my swing.

And I don’t know how to get it back.