What Golf’s Taught Me About Work, Life, Effort, and Geese

I‘m not a fan of certain golf stereotypes. The loud, boorish, cigar-puffing blowhards that most people envision when they drive past country clubs. The belief that golf’s just a way for overweight, middle-aged white men to get away from their wives and flaunt their economic status. The tendency for golf to be snooty, expensive, and stuck up it’s own %#$.

And yet I love golf.

As an infant I watched golf with my dad, and cried when he cheered too loudly at a sunk putt. At three I was in the backyard with a little plastic club, mimicking the fluid swings of Tiger, Mickelson, and Furyk as well as my tiny toddler body could. Growing up a weekly round of golf with my dad was a constant, and even today we’ll chat over the phone about our latest rounds or who did what in the most recent PGA tournament.

My love for golf waxed and waned for years, before firmly taking hold around 2011. At 16 I made my high school’s golf team, became a starter, spent 6 days a week on courses all over Orange County, NY. Though my play-time’s waned over the years, my love for the game hasn’t.

The point is I’ve spent a lot of time with a golf club in my hands, and I’ve learned a lot from it. Not only about swing dynamics, break apexes, and grass grain patterns, but lessons about life that extend well…