My Perfect Life
A Perfect Life
My daily morning routine leads me to realize one thing - my life is perfect. Every day when I wake up, I curse my alarm, stumble to the bathroom, and brush my teeth while I stare out the window. Sometimes I stand there too long, or at least longer than my sleepy body allows. Regardless, I enjoy this. Here I can meditate about everything that I do: breaking my pitching wedge in half in frustration after a poor round of golf or completing a plethora of schoolwork. However, only do I realize my life is perfect when, looking again through that window, I envision the balance between the relaxing and obligatory tasks that characterize my life.
In my perfect life, I live on a golf course, par 72, which inevitably gives me the satisfaction of hitting golf balls into devouring pits of sand. At the same time, that golf course, with those pits of sand, is the same course where I can escape reality. When I finish a round of golf in the late afternoon, a time free from spectators, foursomes, or geese, I feel fulfilled and tranquil. It is therapy at its best. Living about five minutes from the beach, I also find perfection. This offers anything from surfing with the dolphins, placing my cold feet in warm sand, or sailing past the second island. The adrenaline rush I experience as I lean over the side of a catamaran with 20 knots of wind at my sail is breath taking. The same feeling comes over me as I surf in the pre-dawn or late hours of the afternoon when I am subject to the dolphins' curiosity.
In my perfect life, there are also challenges that involve stress and responsibility which bring out my character and work ethic. Surprisingly, to most of my friends, I defy the stereotypical definition of what my senior year is about: letting go or, as we put it, slacking off. I find myself choosing between hitting the books or hitting golf balls into bunkers. More often than not, I am hitting those books, hitting them in the same way I hit my
My daily morning routine leads me to realize one thing - my life is perfect. Every day when I wake up, I curse my alarm, stumble to the bathroom, and brush my teeth while I stare out the window. Sometimes I stand there too long, or at least longer than my sleepy body allows. Regardless, I enjoy this. Here I can meditate about everything that I do: breaking my pitching wedge in half in frustration after a poor round of golf or completing a plethora of schoolwork. However, only do I realize my life is perfect when, looking again through that window, I envision the balance between the relaxing and obligatory tasks that characterize my life.
In my perfect life, I live on a golf course, par 72, which inevitably gives me the satisfaction of hitting golf balls into devouring pits of sand. At the same time, that golf course, with those pits of sand, is the same course where I can escape reality. When I finish a round of golf in the late afternoon, a time free from spectators, foursomes, or geese, I feel fulfilled and tranquil. It is therapy at its best. Living about five minutes from the beach, I also find perfection. This offers anything from surfing with the dolphins, placing my cold feet in warm sand, or sailing past the second island. The adrenaline rush I experience as I lean over the side of a catamaran with 20 knots of wind at my sail is breath taking. The same feeling comes over me as I surf in the pre-dawn or late hours of the afternoon when I am subject to the dolphins' curiosity.
In my perfect life, there are also challenges that involve stress and responsibility which bring out my character and work ethic. Surprisingly, to most of my friends, I defy the stereotypical definition of what my senior year is about: letting go or, as we put it, slacking off. I find myself choosing between hitting the books or hitting golf balls into bunkers. More often than not, I am hitting those books, hitting them in the same way I hit my