There is an apocryphal story about the writer Joseph Conrad whose ability to concentrate was so fragile that he had his wife lock him in their spare room, furnished with only a bare table and chair, and not let him out until an appointed time. Writing is hard. Writers are easily distracted.
For the past several days I’ve been trying to write a piece about two legendary jazz players and watch the Masters golf tournament concurrently. I can identify with Conrad. Hard as I tried I couldn’t write and watch the Masters at the same time. I defaulted to golf and for five hours on Saturday and five hours on Sunday I watched 22 year-old Jordan Spieth confidently stride the narrow fairways of Augusta National until he became surprisingly human and dumped two balls in a water hazard, botched a sand trap shot, shot 7 on that par 3 and donated his 5 stroke lead to the eventual winner, 28 year-old Danny Willet. I couldn’t look away and my resolve to finish the jazz piece dissolved like Jordan’s lead.
