Making The Turn

One of the comforting things about golf, rare as they may be, is the rhythmic nature it carries. Each round provides predictable flows (just as much as there are predictable crises) that help to usher in the phase that follows. At times we are prone to resist these nudges, and most always that is to our chagrin. You see, swimming against the current always carries with it a force of resistance and knowing the limit of your influence and power is paramount to wisdom. Golf teaches you that, and life reinforces it, time and time again.

Sometimes these lessons are more palatable on the links. Many other times, less-so. Especially for the competitive type, golf tends to outsize life in importance, although most times from disappointment rather than triumph. Maybe that's why the game is so true: it teaches us about joy through the constant presence of pain inflicted one bad shot at a time.

I never really viewed myself as a golf-lover, but of course I was a die-hard competitor (which sounds better than a "sore-loser," even if they are synonymous), and golf was my favorite arena to feel the competitive juices flow. Although I didn't pay honor to the profundity of the game along the way, the seeds were being deeply sowed, patiently waiting for the time of their full arrival when they would break free from the soil and burst into the domain of the sun. Of course I had to be broken first, both body and ego (although having the body as an excuse is a very kind gift to the ego).

One of the rhythms every golfer experiences is the flow of the round. There is teeing off, making the turn, and coming home. Michael Bamberger refers to this as "starting, turning, and finishing." We all know those first-tee jitters: the over-excitement and acute anxiety that seems to be tied to the hip with the tee marker indicating #1, although we can all thank our own minds for that stimulating concoction of anticipation paired with expectation. Yet what often gets overshadowed by the presence of "starting" is the power and potential found in making the turn.

Turning has a biblical weight to it. In fact, the real meaning of "repentence" is a "turning from" paired with a "turning towards." And we all know how often golf can make us turn from what was just done... a lot of repenting involved in hitting a shot. With many golf courses, especially the older ones, a common course layout featured the first nine holes as "going out" and the second nine holes as "coming home." In making the turn, we turn towards home. Sometimes it feels that way in life too. Like turning towards home in returning from college, or visiting over the holidays, or even returning after a trip for work. There's a certain prescience to the moment, and somehow golf captures a taste of that each and every round.

At a meta-level, there's something to that experience of turning that I've tasted both in golf and life. First with golf, because that seems simpler...

With golf always being my competitive outlet, the score (and ultimately my performance) was given the highest authority. All other aspects of the game had to bow before the almighty power of the scorecard. Talk about a recipe for misery! Yet for some reason, my brain liked this agreement and it worked out well... that is until it didn't. When golf took a backseat and life stepped up to the plate, I started slowly realizing this approach and mindset was both unsustainable and unsatisfying. More importantly, I think I began to recognize it wasn't human-enough.

With space, time, new experiences, a new playing-partner, and many new struggles, my grip began loosening and my perspective continued widening. A new light was cast on golf and new voices began to enter. From Shivas Irons to Ryan French and everywhere in-between, golf has experienced a rebirth in me. Or maybe it's just that the seedlings once planted have finally sprouted roots and the beginnings of a growing tree.

When it comes to life, I’ve been contemplating the idea and picture of “the middle passage.” We are all too familiar with the concept of midlife crises, yet how often have we thought about the middle passage that brought us to that climactic point? As I’ve read and considered others’ viewpoints on this journey, as well as my own experiences in it thus far, I’m more and more convinced that how we do the middle passage sets the stage for our handling of the crises that come and eventually finishing better than we started.

I’m also learning firsthand the premise that: “what got you here won’t get you there.” The tools, tactics, disciplines, tricks, and even beliefs that created the container for “success” can only get you to that middle passage. To get through it, there is a death and rebirth that must ensue. (And yes, I’m being intentionally vague.) Change, transformation, growth, all these ideas carry with them pain, discomfort, and necessary suffering. But who wants to hear about that? Understanding and experiencing are two sides of a coin, they just may not be the same one.

I know golf has much left to teach me, and so too life. Aren't they more similar than not?

Whatever the full-picture may be, I know it's never that simple, but it always helps to keep it that way. And while I may never feel fully comptetent in doing this thing called life, I'm more and more inclined to keep it that way.

I mean, I'm only just making the turn for Pete's sake!

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*Disclaimer: I am not predicting my death will take place at some point in my 60s. I plan on spending as much time at the 19th hole as possible. And who knows, I may sneak in a few additional rounds to boot!