When Next I Pass this Way


October 15, 2018

Dublin, Ireland



It’s time to head home.

When I set out on this silly golf junket, I had plans to play Portrush and Lahinch,  explore County Armagh,  Sligo, Connemarra,  maybe sit on the cliffs of Inishmore in the Aran Islands overlooking the wild Atlantic.

But the Atlantic has grown more wild in recent days and I suspect that if I am not sitting in a driving rain, the view from the cliffs may be less blue than gray.  The thought of trying to find my way over narrow roads, straining to hear my Google Map directions over the sound of the  defrost  blasting and  wiper blades slapping, has grown less romantic. And then, there’s my golf game which, already bound tight, tends to constrict further when it’s confined beneath three layers of rain gear.

So, I’m heading home. This isn’t a sad decision; in fact, I’m quite proud of myself for choosing to be happy.

No, if this trip is about anything, it’s about new beginnings and the value of time. If you’re a working stiff like me, you only have so much free time in this life. It’s dumb to waste it playing alone in the rain.

When next I pass this way, I hope to share the road with a real voice, a familiar voice, not Google Maps, but someone who can help me find my way through  the roundabouts, and someone with whom I can sit on the cliffs of Inishmore and see nothing but blue skies for as far as the eye can see.

Of course.


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