2005 Spring – The Octagon, an old blog from a young me
Part I. What brings you here
I’ve heard it said that man’s salvation is in picking up God’s graces. And grace comes from art. And art does not come easily.
Growing up, this was made clear to me by my father through the art of golf. I believe that he saw golf as more than a sport but rather a life philosophy. And from an early age, some of my best time spent with him was going to the local driving range and receiving instruction on my swing. As I understood it, a perfect golf swing required the rhythm of a concert pianist and the clarity of a yoga expert. And the inherent human flaws in a golf swing were a true indication of the level of balance in your mind. Subsequently, you could tell how well a man’s life is by the way he’s swinging his golf club. So I practiced this meditation over and over again as a boy, sometimes taking as many as five, ten, or 20 practice-swings before even stepping up to a ball.
Despite my early start in the game; I should admit that I am now, at 28, a pretty awful golfer. It’s an irony that often haunts me but I don’t yet regret. I used to think that my father’s stern instruction kept me from enjoying the game because it felt more like homework from school than a sport. And truthfully, my father’s respect for the game was so high that going to the driving range was really the extent of my experience in golf. I never stepped foot on an actual course until I was 21 years old. Even then, I didn’t feel like I deserved to be there. There was still a tick in my swing that I couldn’t ever seem to shake, something in my life that reared its ugly slice of a head in a really embarrassing fashion. And it seemed almost irreverent for me to bring it on to a golf course.
But still today, I play golf: never frustrated but always curious of the secret mysteries of the perfect swing. Some seasons, I play a round as few as three to four times within the year. But in true form and respect for the game, I always manage to make time for the driving range. My silent meditation in the summer sun. My reflection on the balance in my life.
Part II. Taking Stock
On one particular day of this life, I found myself in a curious state of mind. My life felt out of balance and my future seemed uncertain. The cause of my duress was a career shift I was trying hard to take on. After close to seven years of sales experience, I had managed to lay down the foundation for the dynasty I had hoped to achieve as a businessman. And as I stood solid on this foundation, I found that the opportunity to keep building was far too great to stand still for even a moment.
So I took on some interviews to see what my experience was really worth… kind of an appraisal, of sorts, of my resume. Not knowing what was out there or where it could take me, I cast my line and I hoped. What I pulled back was a bounty that I didn’t expect. It started with one company and proliferated into much, much more. If I was looking for any validation in my professional experience, I got it. I got it, I refined it, and I ultimately drew one conclusion from it: aim higher.
Three months, 13 companies, and 18 interviews later; one company emerged as a clear match. I had seen jobs that I was overqualified for that didn’t want me. I had seen jobs that I was under-qualified for that wanted me bad. And I had seen a lot of combinations of bad luck and bad timing in between. But I came out of the process with an understanding of what my next step should be, and I saw that step in Boston Scientific – a medical device market leader in minimally invasive surgical procedures. I had recently completed three of the four stages of their thorough interviewing process and now waited for the phone call that would arrange my final interview at their corporate office. I was on pins and needles, waiting for the horizon to hit my tires. Waiting, because that’s all I could do.
Part III. Seeking Answers
Being one of the first beautiful days of an early Washington, D.C. spring, it was clear to me how I could find my sanctuary from this anxiety, although I wasn’t clear on where. I needed to find a close-by driving range and gain some insight into what was really going on in my head. The trouble was that the closest one to me was closed for renovations, and several others that I knew of were a little too far outside the beltway for my present disquietude. But I took a chance that a local nine-hole public course would have at least a modest area set aside to warm up my swing.
I drove there with my moon-roof exposed, music filling my soul and glorious sunshine splashing off my Ray-Bans. I was edging my way towards peace. When I got there, however, I was disappointed to find that this golf course didn’t have the traditional driving range I was hoping for. Set off from the clubhouse, there was a narrow gravel path leading to five stations, each with a green mat and a chewed up rubber tee, separated by four short, rusted gates and all enclosed by a big-top tent of a screened net for you to hit your balls into. It was a pathetic sight. What I really wanted was an open field to see the flight of my ball. Today more than ever, I needed to know where the ball was heading: how bad my slice was and whether it could be tamed.
But being that I had already come this far and my hunger to loosen up my body and mind was so great, I decided that this would have to do. So I ponied up to the clubhouse and came out with a large bucket of beat up, reject golf balls. I walked down the gravel path to the last spot in the row, away from the world. It was the middle of the day on a Thursday, so no one was really there. And once I settled into my station, I rediscovered the beauty of the sunshine spring day as I stretched a 7-iron across my back, calmed my mind and breathed purposefully again.
As I stepped up on to my mat to where I had set my bucket by the tee, I looked down at this thick foam platform and noticed its corners were cut equally into eight sides. I was intrigued to notice how perfectly it lay centered in the flat-square plane of concrete that was my area. And so there I was, residing in my small concrete universe, standing upon my tiny little octagon world, looking outward and about to begin a very simple meditation.
Part IV. Outside the Octagon
The first stroke came down hard on the top of the ball and sent it sailing low to the bottom right corner of the net. It bumped the net with a weak blow. The second shot came off a little cleaner but still didn’t feel right. It sailed to the right and smacked the net with a deep thud. The third was about the same. Not exactly the best start I could hope for. And I was frustrated already, mostly at the arena that I had chosen. If only I could see where the ball was going. I needed to know how far I was hitting it, how bad it was slicing right. I needed to see the results, although I had an idea of what they would reveal.
I had topped the ball severely on the first shot and it had sent a bad vibration up my arms to warn me about my rhythm. I left my club face open on the other two and knew it by how awkard and naked my swing felt on the downstroke. I could feel what was going wrong but for some reason still wanted the proof. And then I did something on the next swing. I told the net to go away. And with a wave of my hand, it did. It folded itself up and revealed an open lane just for me. I painted this fairway a bristled green, opening it wide on both sides and extending it to the warm blue horizon. I was a child again, looking outward and anxious for validation of my efforts. I lined up my stance and relaxed my grip a bit, getting ready to swing.
Controlling the tempo, I drew my club high above my head, preparing to strike. But then something, unnerving and familiar happened. I took my eye off the ball for an instant to sneak a peak at my imagined fairway. It was a quick glance, but in that instant my whole world crumbled. My only wish was to keep the ball from slicing off the fairway. But the more I thought of it, the more this once wide fairway incurved like a dented mirror. And it continued to bend inwards until the only thing left was a bike trail of a narrow green target. I plundered down hard on the ball, almost missing it completely, and shanked it so hard right that it pinged the corner of the rusted gate divider. Net or no net, I knew exactly where that shot went.
Part V. What’s Inside
Then something occured to me. What results am I seeking? What do I need to know that I don’t know already? And most importantly, what do I care what happens outside this octagon? Once the ball leaves this area, I’ve already done everything I could possibly do. And if I focus too strongly on the target, that target only gets smaller and harder to hit. So what should I think about, what can I control? I can control my rhythm. I can think about my grip, the weight of the clubhead as it swings into its pendulum, the way I rotate my wrist coming down. I can think about how it feels when I hit the ball and how I did sending it outside the octagon. After that, I’ve done my job. The rest is up to the world.
I breathed slow. I stayed focused on what was close to me. And I took my swing, thinking only about how it felt, not what happened next. Instantly, I knew what felt wrong and I knew what I wanted to change. It wasn’t really something specific, just a different feeling I wanted to get out of hitting the thing. So I pulled another ball to me, breathed deep again, and I hit the damn thing. This time I got the feeling I wanted. So I hit another, and another, and another, each time getting the feeling I wanted from the strike. I changed clubs and continued my meditation, letting nothing outside my octagon interfere with the actions I knew to be right. And I knew them to be right, not because I saw how they played out, but because I could feel it. Down to my bones, I knew what was right… on feel and on faith.
As I kept myself centered in the octagon, I found something else besides the tools at hand. There was an answer to the question I had asked by coming here. The question was ‘what will become of my interviews and eventually my career?’ And the answer became ‘who cares, its outside your octagon’. What I knew, and what I could feel is that, centered in the moment of the interview, I performed to my potential. My mind was clear and my words felt right when I sent them off into the world. And the rest, is up to the world.
Its not necessarily the strongest way to sooth the anxiety of what’s to come. But it helps to understand that when the next moment arrives for me to perform, I’ll stay focused in my octagon, unclouded by the things outside my control. Its a faith of dedication. Its a meditation that keeps me encouraged by the uncertain yet oncoming future.
Part VI. Taking it with you
As I finished off a satisfying bucket of golf balls, I took my final swing with a driver. The rhythm made my soul sing and the whoosh that followed perked my ears. It was a perfect swing. And I knew it without any proof. But the devil inside me, had me sneak one quick peak at the result. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the ball smack hard at the top dead center of the net. As I turned on my heels to leave, I stepped off my platform and smiled as I indulged the fantasty of the net dropping and allowing my ball to sail to its beautiful warm blue horizon.
And although I left that eight-sided green platform behind me, I feel it beneath me now as I get ready for my final interview. Will I get the job? How will my message be received? What’s my destiny? How do people see me? Are my words too harsh? Are my intentions understood? Will I sink this putt? Will I hit my target? Will I find my way home? Will I be the man I desire to be?
I’ll take the answers on faith… but they’re all outside my octagon. And most of the time it’s up to the world. Inside my octagon, is a man with leather soles and high ambitions sending out big ripples across the world – listening patiently for the echoback.
What’s in yours?
“This was written in a moment of career transition in the spring of 2005, and a lesson myself, my friends and family refer back to often especially in uncertain times. I hope you enjoy the message from a much younger me. Stay true to yourself and your ambitions and trust in the natural order of your protected destiny.” – Paul Carreo
Paul Carreo 