You see, I’d become enslaved to the rule of more.  The rule of more works like this:  somehow, whatever you got, it ain’t enough - because you’ve seen what’s out there, what the other guy has.  Whatever it is that I don’t have now will help me be a _______.  I’ll be happy when I get the second house.  I’ll be secure when I get equity in the company.  I’ll do some good when I retire and have more time. 

 I was ruled by more on the golf course. Except, on the golf course, it’s the rule of less.  Good golfers shoot low.  My big benchmark was to shoot consistently in the 80s.  Then, I’d be happy.

To do that, I felt I needed a better swing. For some people, it’s better clubs. I used to laugh at people on the course with $5000 clubs –– do you really think your equipment make you a better golfer?  My more was a better swing.  I spent a lot of time and money working on that swing.

Here’s the problem with more –– more swing, more spouse, more sales, more security, more money, more respect:  it’s never enough.  It’s like chasing wind.  I chased and I chased and I chased . . . and I never caught the wind. It was useless. Like the sage said in the book of Ecclesiastes,

“I have also learned why people work so hard to succeed: it is because they envy the things their neighbors have. But it is useless. It is like chasing the wind. They say that we would be fools to fold our hands and let ourselves starve to death.   Maybe so . . . but it is better to have only a little, with peace of mind, then be busy all the time with both hands, trying to catch the wind.

Again, I saw vanity under the sun: the case of solitary individuals, without sons or brothers; yet there is no end to their toil, and their eyes are never satisfied with riches.  “For whom am I toiling,” they ask, “and depriving myself of pleasure?”  This also is vanity, and an unhappy business.”

 Qohelet, the writer of Ecclesiastes, is the bible’s guru of work life.  Qohelet –– I’ll call him Q –– has reflected more carefully on work than any other biblical writer.  He begins with this question: “What do people gain from all the toil at which they toil under the sun?” What do we gain?

 I had to tune in to Q, because I’m someone who’s worked too hard and gotten too little pleasure from her work.  Even golf became work for me!

 Now, Q’s got a helluva resume.  He’s built houses, planted vineyards, made himself gardens, parks, pools. He got slaves. He got great possessions of herds and flocks — more than any before him in Jerusalem. He got silver and gold and the treasure of kings. He got singers and concubines and delights of the flesh.

 I bet Q was a scratch golfer back in the day. He’s saying to golfers, “Look, I shot par at Pebble Beach on a windy day . . . and even that, is vanity.”  Q made himself into one of those who got it . . . only to discover that it wasn’t all that.

 The Hebrew word is hebel. Vanity. Futility. Hebel literally means –– let me put it this way:  if you saw Q’s car in the parking lot, it’d be the one with the bumper sticker that says:  “Hebel happens.”

 “It is better to have only a little, with peace of mind  . . . than be busy all the time with both hands, trying to catch the wind,” Q says.

 Then, he tells us about something that just breaks his heart:  “The case of solitary individuals, without sons or brothers . . . There is no end to their toil, and their eyes are never satisfied with riches. “For whom am I toiling,” they ask, “and depriving myself of pleasure?” This also is vanity, and an unhappy business.”

 Q sees himself here, and this causes him much pain.  This is the tragic example of vanity:  the lone ranger trying to do it all, self-consumed with work, having sacrificed intimacy and pleasure in the singular pursuit of gain.  I’ve been that “solitary individual.” I spent hundreds of hours by myself, beating thousands of golf balls on the practice range.  And let me tell ya: there was no end to my toil. My eyes were never satisfied. Don’t think that toil is limited to the 9-to-5: anything can become toil when pursued for gain.  Golf – my sport, my leisure time – had become toil, and an “unhappy business.”   When my golf game became all about scoring lower someday, I stopped having fun in the now. I was working so hard to secure my future, I was losing my present.  And it’s exhausting, the achiever’s insatiable appetite.

 But there’s one thing that Q never dismisses as hebel:  joy.  Q is on the lookout for joy:  “There is nothing better than that a person should take joy in his doings.”  You want joy?  Then let go of gain, he says.  Detach work from gain. Cut it loose. Throw it out.  Then, work becomes something different – it’s no longer a means to an end.

 The person who’s taught me more about joy than anyone else is my brother. One lesson came a golf course, where he hit the most beautiful golf shot I’ve ever seen.  

Rob was stationed in Hawaii at the time. The military has some sweet, sweet real estate in Hawaii, and their golf courses are cheap. Rob had told me about the golf course on base. They call it the Poor Man’s Pebble Beach because the back nine holes run along the water.

As we golfed, it became clear that Rob was not a man to worry about his swing.  Not a man to worry about his equipment, either.  His single most important piece of equipment was the cooler on the back of the cart.  Rob was a most casual golfer. Remarkably unconcerned about where the ball goes. I began to wonder what he was there for.  It was years later that I realized:  Rob wasn’t on that golf course because he wanted to golf. He was there because I was.

 I, however, was a lot about the golf.  And there was nothing remarkable about the front nine, I gotta say.  I was glad I’d only paid $20 to play.

Then we made the turn to the 13^th hole.  Up a hill. And there, on the top of the hill, I saw it:  miles and miles of blue ocean. The entire Pacific Ocean, laid out in front of us. All I wanted to do was sit down, forget about the golf, and just look.  Later, I learned that the 13^th has been voted the top hole of any US military golf course in the world. 

But suddenly, Rob was all business. And it was here, that Rob hit the most beautiful golf shot I’ve ever seen.

 When he teed it up, I immediately knew that something was wrong. I wanted to say, “Hello, Rob, golf course, over here. Fairway, flag, green, that way!”

 But no. Rob had other ideas. He gets out his driver, and yells: “Sacrifice to the gods of the sea!” –– and sends the ball sailing out over into the Pacific Ocean. And it sailed high and dropped into the endless ocean.

 I have no idea how long it sailed – there’s no 200, 250 yard marker in the ocean.

I have no idea where it landed – there’s no flag, no cup in the ocean. It was the most beautiful golf shot I’ve ever seen. 

Part of me wondered, “What’d you do that for?”
Part of me laughed in delight.
Part of me thought, “Well, that’s one less ball in your bag, and you don’t have that many to spare.”

 The rest of me teed it up and send my own ball sailing –– straight down the fairway, flying at the flag, flapping in the wind.  

 If I ever stand on that tee again, I will sacrifice every ball in my bag to the God of the sea.