I’m horrible at golf. But that doesn’t keep me from fantasizing about being a professional golfer. When I see the salary that the #1 player in the world makes . . . Well, it makes me wish that I were the 8th best player in the world. That honor went to Harris English, who was 8th on the list of top PGA winnings for 2021, earning $6,000,000. Who?!
That’s my point. You get paid a lot to play a lot on the most prestigious courses all over the world. You’re on TV, you meet and play with your golf heroes, and people politely clap when you hit a good shot. Here’s the best part. When you go to a restaurant, nobody recognizes you. Let me repeat that—all the perks with none of the hassle. You get to do everything the #1 player does without the burden of fame, not to mention the pressure to stay #1. You’re just happy to be out there. And who can complain about a $6,000,000 annual salary? Now that’s a dream job.
I heard on Science Friday (at least I think it was Science Friday) that the happiest athletes in the Olympics are the gold and bronze medal winners. The gold are happy for obvious reasons—at least, in the beginning. The bronze are happy because they nearly didn’t win anything at all. But the silver . . . nothing but woe, woe, woe. Instead of being ecstatic that they beat everyone except for one person, they’re crushed that they lost to the winner—the only person they cared to beat.
When my boss was in college (20 years ago), she played in the NCAA softball championship game. I was so impressed. She, on the other hand, was so depressed. Her team came in second. Twenty years later and she still has not recovered from that loss. She would have been happier having never played. It’s true. I outscore her in happiness, and I wasn’t an NCAA anything!
The comfort zone begins in the mind, so I avoid fantasies that cause stress. That’s why my Academy Award fantasy includes a nomination but never a win. Speeches—yuck! Too stressful. In my Oscar fantasy, I get a good seat close to the stage because I’m nominated, and because I don’t win, no reporters are bothering me at the after-ceremony party. I have the luxury of doing everything the winner gets to do, minus the part where people pester me to see my Oscar. (Of course, to be polite, I’ll congratulate the winner and ask to hold the award for just a moment, which is close enough to winning it.)
From my living room window I have a spectacular view of an 11,753-foot mountain peak. Everyone around here wants to climb to the top. The view isn’t bad at the summit, and there is a sense of accomplishment, but I say Meh! I’ve scaled it twice, and beyond the timberline, the ground you’re treading is barren and never changes. Just more and more uninhabitable shale. What’s left behind on that final stage to the top are the trees and streams and every living thing in between. So I prefer to stay back where plenty of life happens, and where there’s still plenty to appreciate.
As the saying goes, there is room at the top—at least one seat available. It’s the seat that I plan to leave empty.
Into the Comfort Zone 