There are times in life that prove monumental — moments of enlightenment that can alter perspective or outlook.

For golfers, maybe it’s a shot, or a swing thought. A feel, or a sound, when everything clicks, even for just a second. The moments are brief, but become etched in our memories to later summon upon.

Not too long ago, just before my round of golf was over and the night sky washed out the summer sun, I was lucky enough to experience one of these moments.

It was around 3:30 p.m. when I got the itch to play golf. A little late, but the golf gods were calling me (and I never want to make them upset). Maybe I still had enough time for 18 holes if I played fast enough.

My seventh floor apartment looks out onto the local muni in Honolulu called Ala Wai Golf Course. I hadn’t played it yet, but the tease of looking down at the course everyday for a year had gotten to be too much. It was time to play my “home” course for the first time.

A canal, no more than a chip shot wide, separates my apartment building from the clubhouse. I brushed the sand off my feet from the beach earlier that day and threw on socks, golf spikes and a wrinkled collared shirt (I don’t do laundry enough). With my golf bag slung on my shoulder, I navigated around the canal to the clubhouse.

Yes, it’s in my backyard, but it isn’t a terribly convenient course to play.

They claim it’s the most frequented golf course in the country (the Guinness Book of World Record agrees), averaging between 450 to 500 rounds per day. I was hoping to get in a quick 18 holes before it got dark, but teeing off at 4 p.m. on the most crowded course on earth, it was a long shot.

The starter asked if I wanted to join the foursome on the tee.

“Foursome?” I asked. With some astute mathematics I realized that would make our group a five-some; something was assuredly amiss.

“Uh, yeah, right over there,” he answered, gesturing toward the first tee. “You’ll be in the group behind those five gentleman.” My 18 hole goal was certainly audacious, but this I was not expecting.

A golfer’s mind and body need their fix no matter the situation, so I paid my greens fees and got in line behind the five men. I had time for a couple warm-up swings with two irons held together like a baseball player in the on-deck circle. I threw in some hamstring stretches for good measure. The 4:17 p.m. tee-time was strictly enforced for some reason. Surely it wasn’t to avoid a backup.

The inevitably slow pace of the round became surprisingly less noticeable as the round wore on. Waiting for 20-plus minutes on some holes gave our five-some time to converse, and actually get to know each other as more than just normal playing partners (by “normal” I mean: introduce yourselves on the first tee and forget each other’s names immediately, if not sooner).

Somewhere around No. 6, between the relentless waiting and intriguing conversation, I had actually lost track of my score. Over the course of a typical round, I know precisely where I stand in relation to par at all times.

I can’t say I was “in the zone,” however. To be considered in a zone you have to be playing well, and looking back I certainly wasn’t breaking the course record. It was more a zone of serenity, enjoying my surroundings and the company I kept.

Normally, a slow round of golf makes me impatient and irritated. I’m not sure why I’m in a rush, but I know I’m not the only golfer that feels this way. We love the game with a passion, so why are we in such a hurry?

That late-afternoon round was different.

Maybe it was because the pace was so slow that I was resigned to leisure, or maybe it was the beautiful sunset leaking through the Waikiki city skyline that put my mind at ease. Whatever it was, I was playing a round of golf and I didn’t know my score; a rare if not unprecedented feat.

My golf ball was safely aboard the ninth green (our last hole), and I waited patiently while my playing partners were chipping on. Not the hands on the hip “let’s hurry up” appearance of patient that golfers love, but rather, patient in the true sense of the word. My walk up to the green was peaceful. I noticed the palm trees and the feel of the grass, enjoying the last waking minutes of sunlight.

Then it happened, my moment of enlightenment — a moment that would signify the calmness I felt, and strive to feel within the game.

I noticed something that I never have in my golfing career — the sound of the Velcro strands separating from each other on my glove as I peeled them apart. It sent chills up my left arm.

I suppose my mind has never been quiet enough to hear that sound. It’s always been filled with an inner voice, screaming about swing-thoughts, doubts, frustrations or worries, especially walking up to the green on the finishing hole. Usually, I’m calculating how many putts I need to shoot a certain score, or how detrimental a three-putt would be to my round.

Why does a golfer’s mind become so singularly focused on score or outcome, and neglect the beauty of golf and the surroundings? Why is tranquility so infrequent?

That day was special — but it shouldn’t have been.

Golf is a game to be enjoyed, and we shouldn’t let our minds be trapped with negative thoughts and frustrations. Every round from here on out, when I hear the cringing sound of tiny strands of plastic ripping from one another on the last hole, I’ll remember to appreciate the gift of playing the beautiful game.

And if you must know, I missed a straight-in four-footer on No. 9: a three-putt and a 37. Maybe I should just make the putt next time (I guess our “moments” are indeed fleeting).