Dear Golf

Dear Golf-

I’m not good at you. Not even close. You know that and I know that. I’m below average in a way that would bother me in almost anything else. But for some reason, that’s part of why I keep coming back. You’re a lifelong pursuit I’ll never perfect, and strangely, that feels like home.

You’ve given me more than I could ever repay. You’ve created some of my fondest childhood memories and you’ve reunited me with old friends from that same childhood. Somehow, a tee time does what text messages can’t. We pick up where we left off, no explanations needed. A couple of swings, a couple of jokes, and it’s like the years never happened.

You’ve also introduced me to people I never would’ve met otherwise. Random playing partners who started as strangers and who I knew would end up as lifelong friends before we made the turn. There’s something about walking the same fairways, dealing with the same chaos, and laughing at the same disasters that accelerates connection. You can learn a lot about a person by the way they handle their slice.

You’ve taught me the value of playing alone, too. Solo rounds with you have become a moving meditation — quiet, steady, honest. No audience. No performance. Just me, the course, and whatever version of you and me shows up that day. Sometimes patient. Sometimes not. Either way, you hold up the mirror.

And then there’s the time with my sons. That’s where you’re at your best. You give us space to talk, or not talk, without forcing anything. You turn lost balls into lessons and good shots into shared victories. Watching them grow into the game — and almost always beating me at it — is one of the best parts of being their dad.

But the real reason I’m writing this is simpler: you give me a place to practice the things I say I believe. Patience. Honesty. Presence. Composure. It’s easy to talk about those things. It’s harder to live them. With you, there’s no hiding. Every reaction is visible. Every story I tell myself gets tested. Every habit shows up.

You’re a practical exam for living a virtuous life, one shot at a time.

And you’re endlessly deep. Game management. Shot selection. Course strategy. Meteorology. The history of the sport. The architecture. The psychology. The etiquette. The unwritten rules. The way a course designer can challenge you without saying a word. There’s always something new to learn, and always another layer I didn’t know existed.

You frustrate me. You humble me. You expose me. You teach me. And somehow, through all of that, you make me better — or at least more aware of the gap between who I am and who I’m trying to be.

That’s why I write about you.

Not because I’ve figured you out. But because I haven’t — and probably never will.

And that’s the whole point.

Sincerely,

Matt