🐥The Paradox of Now #26

Where the f*ck is Corby?

Hi people!

I spent the weekend in Corby playing in my first ever Challenger event in the Premier Pickleball League.

It was a great experience.

Even though I wasn’t quite firing on all cylinders, the team pulled through and we won both our matches.

It got me thinking about the hobbies we choose to pursue, and how far we’re willing to go to commit and push ourselves.

That’s what inspired this week’s main body that’s coming up.

Now let me give you a taste of what's coming:

🐥 A golf YouTube channel guaranteed to lift your mood
🐥 A mate stuck between pro dreams and amateur choices
🐥 Sucking on a what now?

🥚Eggstra News🥚

Your weekly dose of some fascinating and fun finds:

🏌️Bad Golf – Alex Horne plays golf badly. Got me through lockdown. Still hilarious.

🍵A_mug_of_life – A guy who walks around asking people if they want tea… and talks about life. It’s lovely.

🪥Kieron Drew – Dentist turned writer. Clean, simple, honest writing. Big fan.

The Paradox of Now

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The Professional Amateur

This could be fabricated. It could live in some imaginary dreamworld. It could just be, for lack of a better word, bullsh*t.

But you once heard that a friend’s grandfather put a £10 bet on them to win The Open Championship one day.

A pretty cool grandad if you ask me. Even if it’s not true, he must have been cool enough for people to spread stories like this and for them to feel believable.

The friend played golf throughout childhood and into his twenties. A great player from a great line of golfers.

Evenings were spent on the buggy with his older brother and dad, driving down the fairways. An unmatched family bonding experience – or so you’re told.

Even if the bonding came between bouts of shouting and the odd club being thrown.

The dynamics of a father-son coach are difficult at the best of times.

The friend was good. But he wasn’t great. A couple of hole-in-ones. A bogey-free round. Some scores under par.

The signs were there. But they were too sporadic.

Maybe the pressure was too much. To live in the shadow of a father who had achieved so much. One of the greatest Welsh golfers of a generation. A father who had already appeared in many Opens himself.

Strangely, this realisation only came to the friend years later, in a job interview. One like no other. Open, exploratory, digging into who he really was.

They spoke about great educational success, and he found himself talking about his lack of self-efficacy.

This sense that he had never quite lived up to what he could have been.

The talent was there.

But maybe so was the competency curse.

The friend was good at most things he tried. Other than perhaps parkour, riding a bike, and Guitar Hero.

But any sport? Most academic subjects? He picked them up quickly.

And so, whenever he started something new, he became competent fast. Maybe too fast.

And he also never committed to just one thing. Because the quick and new learning was compelling and addictive. Despite reminders from his mum to double down and focus on one thing.

The competency curse was real.

So he didn’t excel at golf. He was good. But he was also good at cooking, swimming, maths, writing…

The eclectic list could go on.

But he never chose just one.

And the £10 was lost to Ladbrokes forever.

So what does the friend do now?

In his late twenties, he decides to double down.

He quits everything and focuses on just writing. And on his newfound love of pickleball.

And even that feels like the competency curse. He wonders if he focused on just one, for even one year, he could be something in either. But maybe not both.

He is aware of the finite time he has on this planet. He knows that every choice comes with a cost.

But maybe it’s just a reframing that’s needed. And with time, he might find the clarity to fully commit. For now, he’s done well to narrow down from many to a few.

And for the first time, he sees the value of all the transferable skills picked up along the way.

Maybe the competency curse wasn’t a curse at all, but a blessing in disguise.

At 28 years old, with limited time and resources, he might never win the equivalent of The Open in pickleball.

But he has represented Wales at the European Pickleball Championships. He has been selected for a Challenger Premier Pickleball League team. All after a short time in the sport, with no racket background and minimal practice.

Most weeks, he trains only once.

And yet still expects to compete with those that have spent years playing American college tennis, or those drilling four days a week.

You may have some natural ability, my friend, but that can only take you so far.

And these are the words and reflections of that friend.

A friend now aware that he is nothing more than a professional amateur. Knowing it’s too late to become a professional. But also knowing he is good enough to compete, to win the Welsh Nationals, and to earn medals abroad at the highest level just below pro status.

And yet, the achievements don’t always feel enough. Because deep down, he always felt there was more. That he was built for something greater.

When you're good at things, and you hold yourself to high standards, you assume success is the default. Which means success isn’t cause for celebration – it’s the minimum.

Anything less feels like failure. Anything more feels… expected.

He has low forgiveness and high expectations of himself.

But don’t worry friend. Evolutionary psychology might have an answer that eases the pain.

You are the way you are because your ancestors were overachievers. They had to be. They survived hardship. They thrived while others did not.

Their goal was purely survival. Yours feel more trivial – but what a privilege that is. You get to pursue success beyond survival. You get to choose status, joy and growth.

This isn’t some self-limiting speech.

This is a friend with clear-eyed pragmatism. Someone trying to make peace with the life he is living.

The life of the professional amateur, still learning to forgive himself.

He knows this won’t resonate with everyone.

He knows most people won’t care for this post. And that’s fine.

Because he writes for the one. Not the many.

This is for you. The fellow cursed competent.

This is for you. The fellow professional amateur.

This is for you. My friend sat writing this.

Celebrate your victories as an amateur.

Celebrate your wins at whatever level you are at.

Because life, and the things we achieve in it, are worth celebrating.

No matter the level.

🐥 Haiku’s Haiku 🐥

Haiku made a special appearance at the wedding of my good friend and fellow Welsh Nationals champion, Joel. He was brought to life on the day by another legend and top-tier pickleballer, Nathan.

Massive congrats to Joel and Jess. Wishing you the most amazing honeymoon imaginable.

Joel, if you are reading this, I hope it’s from a cruise ship sun lounger, surrounded by seven plates of food, having already put on three kilos.

If you’re not reading this... fair play. Go live your best life.

🌴 Palm Tree Euphoria 🌴

I’m currently writing this while sucking on an apple seed.

A habit I picked up from my year two teacher.

Proustian moment unlocked.

It helps me focus and stops the snacky cravings.

I hear they also contain cyanide?

Don’t panic. I think you need like 200 to make it fatal.

I’ve had two. I’m fine.

The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree when it comes to my readers and their strange heads too!

See you next week Dashing Ducks! 🐥

P.S. if this fruity little tale wormed its way into your brain, pass it on to a fellow duckling who probably has a banana fact locked and loaded.

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