By Sam Weinman
I’ve struggled with my decision on Election Day for some time now. I’ve weighed both sides carefully. I’ve heard from people who will agree with me and from people who will think I’m an idiot.

Ultimately, though, the decision is deeply personal. It has to be my own.

I am going to play golf.

There, I said it.

I am going to play golf because I care about the election but I want a break from caring for at least four hours. I am going to vote and then I’d rather be in three feet of fescue than anywhere near my Twitter feed. The spotty cell service at my golf course never seemed like a good thing until now.

I am going to play golf because it will be partly sunny on Election Day, and because I sense deep disruptions on the horizon. Word is they’re punching the greens next week.

I’m going to play golf because the last few months have shaken my core and because things seem so uncertain now. But one thing that is certain is I can’t hit a golf ball off a downhill lie. I need the assurance of things I can count on.

Plus, we need common ground. We are all so polarized now, our divisions so deep, but we can all agree the fifth hole at my golf course is an exceptionally dumb golf hole.

I am going to play golf because my kids are going to be home from school and my oldest son made a tee time for us and because I believe we need to listen more to America’s youth.

I am going to play golf because I have had it with electoral maps, undecided seniors and suburban moms—except for one suburban mom, my wife, who I should probably inform I am going to play golf since someone needs to walk the dog.

I am going to play golf because I was looking for an excuse to play and so I wrote this column about my decision to play golf. Now, in the interest of accuracy, I am obligated to play.

I am going to play golf, not because I think the election is a joke. Quite the opposite in that things have never seemed more serious. But I believe that golf brings out the best in ourselves and in each other. It provides patience, perspective and humility—all precious commodities now more than ever.

I am going to play golf because even on my worst days I am capable of hitting a fully satisfying golf shot. There’s always at least one, coming clean off the clubface, behaving exactly as intended. And so when I hit the pillow on Tuesday night, the various electoral permutations likely still swirling, I’ll at least be able to distract myself thinking about that.