There is something to be said for being a golfer on the rigorous course of human experience who is always playing from thicket-like rough, the lone fairway pit bunker, the drop zone near the pond, the deep green-side sand trap, or the long grass on the short side of a green which runs away sharply (Two solid chips and two firm putts should do it.). Just what cheerful and uplifting little something might that be? That this seeming duffer slicing and hooking his plus-foured way down the links of life is getting invaluable experience meeting and crossing clubs with some of the worst that mortal mind can insinuate or arrogate into man's path. Overcoming each obstacle, sometimes repeatedly until the lesson it offers is mastered, toughens one mentally and forces him to grow spiritually (or abjectly succumb).
Decades of humdrum elbowing, shoving, and toe treading might not accomplish as much as a few years of dragging one's bag of understanding, however limited at the outset, around a diabolical (mental) course. This is not to justify or endorse, however, a grim Sisyphean existence which is all push, stumble, and skinned knees up a steep incline and without even an occasional level spot to chock momentarily the vicious lie of life in matter while one catches his breath. Before the crown is won there will be countless false beliefs to meet and defeat and meet and defeat again, so the more resolute and vigorous today's consecrated effort, the more rewarding tomorrow's experience will surely be. Till at last the blessing of Mrs. Eddy's promise is won and the "course" is finished with joy.