I have concluded there are two types of people in the world: those who are content with a B and those who will settle for nothing short of an A. Perhaps the term “Type A Personality” has its origins in our grading system, though I am too lazy to do the research needed to confirm my reasonable theory.

Growing up in my neck of the woods, the goal was always an A; anything less indicated a lack of motivation, discipline or effort. The paths of some of my straight-A high school friends seemed clearly defined. They would attend prestigious colleges, enroll in graduate schools, and set off on professional journeys paved with plenty of money, large houses, happy families, and a glowing feeling of success.

The problem, of course, is that paths are seldom straight, often bumpy, crowded with unknown travelers, and sometimes poorly lit, with confusing signage: The cradle to the grave is never a direct and narrow line. (But I’m sure, dear readers, you already know all this. One hundred and sixty-nine words into this column and I have offered you nothing new, no wisdom, nothing at all of particular interest or enlightenment. Stick with me; insightful observations, thoughts that may even be life-changing, are about to follow.)

I have a friend, age 73, who has had a lucrative career in business and finance. He has amassed enough savings to travel in style and live a life of leisure. He texted me recently saying he needed to put off plans we had made, writing, “I’m feeling really stressed by this high-end client I’m working with.” I didn’t reply but I was thinking: “At age 73, you take on clients who cause you stress? Why? What will you do with this extra money you don’t need? I hope you know there’s no ATM at heaven’s door.”

This friend, and quite a few others I know in a similar age bracket, seems to thrive on self-induced stress. They have successfully negotiated many of life’s roadblocks and now, for some bizarre reason, need to construct their own problems to be overcome. They willingly suffer sleepless nights, high blood pressure, and lack of exercise to search for ways to make their lives difficult or challenging. These are my straight-A friends.

I, on the other hand, much to my mother’s dismay, was always satisfied with a B (OK, I’ll admit it. I really needed a B+ to feel good about myself.) I spent my working years as an elementary classroom teacher, determined to be happy. After graduating from college, I promised myself that I would refuse to spend half my waking hours doing a job I didn’t like. I avoided stress like the plague.

And it worked pretty well, up until six years ago when, at age 67, I, too, fell into the trap of self-induced stress. That’s the year I took up golf, a sport invented by well-dressed, coordinated sadists and played by would-be athletes with masochistic tendencies. I believe people golf to experience failure, to suffer humiliation in front of peers, to withstand all weather conditions, to simulate life’s challenges by finding roundabout ways over and out of bunkers and roughs and sand pits.

And talk about uneven paths! A line graph of my weekly ups and downs on the course would rival that of the wildest day in Wall Street history. I wouldn’t wish my frustrations on my worst enemy (though I would happily sic them on a slew of politicians who will remain nameless for the sake of guest column civility.)

At the 584-word mark (we column contributors must keep count!), what lessons can we draw from these minor thoughts and ramblings? A few observations: Money drives some folks to make decisions that are bad for their health; some people feel most alive when immersed in dangerous or stressful situations; the devil, like hope and fear, is omnipresent, lurking on every fairway on every golf course across the globe.

But looking back at my opening paragraph — all that talk about A and B students — honestly, that was just a bunch of drivel (remember, I don’t get paid for writing this!) Yes, some people are more driven than others, finding fulfillment in solving difficult problems and overcoming enormous obstacles. And we B+ types create our own kinds of meaning, sometimes setting the bar a little lower, where success or satisfaction is more easily attained. But we too enjoy an occasional challenge.

Ultimately, I believe, we all want the same things: a sense that we belong, that we have purpose, that we are capable of achievements, both large or small.

As to why I endure nine holes of golf five days a week — that’s best left for a future column.

Gene Stamell lives in Leverett, five minutes up the road from Cherry Hill Golf Course. He can be reached at gstamell@gmail.com.

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