It was the perfect start to my first golf round of the season. I couldn’t have drawn it up any better.

I crunched a 3-wood down the fairway on Natanis Golf Course’s par-5 first hole on the Arrowhead side last Saturday. I flushed a 5-iron to about 30 yards shy of the green. Just a little half lob wedge into the green left to set up a birdie putt to kick off the spring.

And I chunked it. There was the rust. Totally fat, barely went anywhere.

If I said anything, it was “Whoops.” I smiled, walked the couple of steps up to where the ball now lay, and tried again. I ended up making bogey.

Normally, that’s a spot for a blue streak. I check to make sure no one’s within earshot, and I have at it. Any swear word that comes to mind, goes. Let the profanity fly, calm down, throw one or two more bad words in for good measure, and carry on.

But that was before the coronavirus, before COVID, before everything closing and everyone realizing just how much they took their daily pleasures for granted.

For me, that pleasure is golf. And it became clear that it was time for an attitude adjustment, and for a whole new appreciation for just having the chance to play.

Because, for a month, we saw what it was like to not have that chance. To see green grass, temperatures in the mid 60s, and empty parking lots at the golf courses. There was no definitive timeline for when the game would be back. Maybe a month. Maybe less. Maybe more. Maybe two months. Maybe the whole summer would be lost. Who knew?

The wait and the uncertainty added to the longing. You don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone, they say. How accurate.

Sometime during the wait, I decided that when we got the green light to hit the links again, I was going to make a conscious effort to enjoy every minute. Really soak it in. Truly appreciate what every other spring and summer feels like a given.

That meant controlling a temper that can run hot sometimes. The less I play like Tiger Woods, the more I sound like him. There are words I say on the golf course that I don’t say anywhere else. I’m usually restrained enough to limit my anger to words or phrases, though there was one instance years ago where, after a second straight poor shot, I flung my 6-iron at my golf bag, right where I had stored my phone. The glass in the bottom right corner, where the club head hit, was crunched into powder. On the bright side, it was my most accurate shot of the day.

Frustration while playing is normal, and fine. But too much of it is detrimental. You lose sight of what you’re doing, and why you’re doing it. You forget to have fun.

That’s what I’ve been trying to avoid this year. I saw life without this game. I didn’t like it. Now that it’s back, I don’t want to lose sight of how much I enjoy it.

It’s still early, but through 45 holes I’ve been sticking with it. I had a birdie putt that hit the pin and bounced an inch and a half away from the hole, a bunker shot that didn’t leave the bunker, and a tee shot that was flying long and straight until it hit a tree branch and deflected straight down.

After each, I smiled, shook my head, and got ready for the next shot. I focused instead on how nice a day it was, and how the sun lit up the course. Or the excellent conditions of the fairways and greens. Or that there was another shot coming up to hit.

Hitting a poor shot or getting an unlucky break is a bad feeling. But after a month away from the game, I know a worse one.

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