I realize that I don’t dream anymore. I don’t mean the “being chased by a creepy guy and my legs won’t work” kind of dream. I have more of those than ever. But, ever since the pandemic lockdown started, I don’t daydream about the future anymore. No more dreams about traveling to London, Paris and Tuscany; no plans to show Iceland to my wife and wondering whether we should visit the Faroe Islands while we’re in the neighborhood; and no thoughts of a 275-yard bomb off the tee box on the 18th. Quite frankly, I’m not sure what to dream about now and I really miss it. And that’s a shame because dreaming is the fun, first step toward doing.