Of Keeping Score

Good Evening,


I know it is late.  I have been so distracted by my everyday life that I have put my writing life on hold again.  And in the end both lives have suffered.


Yet, I am happy to be here now, and I want to share just a little something that has been percolating in my mind all day.


This morning I heard someone discuss a particular translation, NIV, of the christian scriptures, Corinthians 13:1-13, that said that love doesn't keep score.  And I must admit that it was a bitter pill to swallow.  I am after all a score keeper.  A recorder of injustices and wrongs.  A mighty grudge holder, who happens to have a nearly eidetic memory (like photographic), who in some respects truly cannot forget anything.  And here was a message saying that love doesn't do this.  That love doesn't need to keep score.  That love is greater than all the grudges I could ever hold.  And honestly, it is much better for me than the bile I choose to accumulate in my soul.  It was a painful message to hear.


I went home and ruminated.  I tried to talk.  I tried to sleep.  I tried to ignore my own deeper intuition that I there was something within me that could respond to this wounded place that was screaming for attention.  Something to pacify this score keeper who was fighting tooth and nail to claim that the grudges were important and that the score mattered in the final analysis.  Something to quiet this angry little man screeching to be right.  Some voice of calm to soothe this troubled self.


And then it hit me, simply, calmly, and surprisingly, that I have long lived one specific part of my life in this truly loving manner.


Mini-golf.


Yep, I learned years ago that if I wanted to enjoy playing mini-golf with my young children, that everyone had a much better time when I didn't keep score.  There was no time spent on writing down the number of times anyone attempted to hit the ball.  There was no record of mistakes, of times the ball left the green, or entered the water, or hit the windmill, or hit me, or bounced out of the cup.  There was no angst over who was winning, or who was losing.  There was no winner at the end.  There was no loser at the end.  


Instead there were four mostly happy people who enjoyed playing, looking silly, laughing, maybe crying, soaking in the sun, and being thankful for the time together.  No scorecard at the end could mess that up.  No regrets about going over par.  No tears about losing.  No frustration at not being the best.  Just contentment with a game well enjoyed.


And as I thought about this I heard my own voice echoing in my mind:


"Why don't you choose to live your life like this?"


And I was unsure.  I was unsure if I could.  I was unsure if I wanted to.  


Mini-golf is one thing, but life?  My whole life lived without keeping score?  What purpose could I possibly achieve at the end if I did not have a record of everything I had ever done?


And tonight I have realized that the answer is exactly the same as the one I had found when I unburdened myself by choosing not to keep score in mini-golf.


There will be a mostly happy person, who enjoyed playing, looking silly, laughing, maybe crying, soaking in the sun, and being thankful for the time that he had together with his family.  And there will be no imaginary scorecard at the end to change my memories or my experiences.  There will be no regrets about how many tries it took me to succeed.  There will be no tears about losing a game that wasn't meant to be won or lost.  There will be no frustration at not having been the best.  There will only be contentment with a life well enjoyed.


So, tomorrow, I will try to live as though there is no scorecard of my life, marked with misses and mistakes, because deep down I know that there isn't one anyway.  And I will walk out onto the green, tee up, swing my putter, and hope that I can get as close to appointed mark as I possibly can.  And if I'm lucky, I'll get that hole-in-one, but more likely I'll get a few over par, and I will be happy because I got the chance to play.  


Until we meet again.


Be well, love your neighbor as you love yourself, and remember to actually love yourself.


-Ari