Changing Your Grip

I said when I first started this blog that golf had given me many things, though I’ve never played.  It’s led me to places I never dreamed I’d go (Japan would be one of them). It’s taught me lessons on perseverance and helped me hone great people skills. It’s led me to people — so many, many people — I’ve loved meeting. I keep learning — through golf.

Last year, in the process of writing for a regional magazine, I learned a little about 3D motion capture from PGA professional, teacher and expert Dan Woods at Ravenwood Golf Club in Victor NY.

Please don’t make me explain to you what that is. It involves wearing a vest with — okay, you know how they dress people up in vests and suits to create animation for movies like Avatar? Picture that.

Only they do it with a golfer swinging a club.

You may also remember I wrote a post here about walking the old VA golf course near my home, and what that meant to me.

And last year, I wrote a blog post on the world’s most inspiring golf courses. One of them was American Lakes Veterans Golf Course in Washington State. That was my pick for the most inspiring U.S. course, because they work with inpatient vets at their hospital and any vet who needs PT or treatment for things like PTSD — by taking them  on the golf course to play. They have specially designed golf carts for amputees, paved areas for wheelchairs at the practice areas, and PT and OT therapists who are right there with them on the course.

Then I gained a Twitter follower called @WndWarriorGolf — the “Wnd” stands for “wounded.” Military wounded in war.

He asked me to give some attention to a golf tournament they’re having. Here’s what is going on via their blog site:

A golf tournament seems like the perfect way to raise contributions for Quality of Life Plus www.qlplus.org. Working with Harmon Golf in Rockland MA, we are calling all pros and hackers alike, to join us on Monday October 4, 2010 at 9 a.m. for our first annual Golf Tournament to benefit Quality of Life Plus

We’ll play 18 holes filled with many contests, followed by lunch whereby everyone can take jabs at each other – or get awards ; -) And they will be special awards! Contributions keep coming in from the golf industry!  There’ ll be a silent and live auction, as well as special guests, live music and plenty of tributes.

Ordinarily I wouldn’t promote every charity golf tournament that asks for it — but this is different.

Quality of Life Plus is based in the engineering department of Cal Poly, San Luis Obispo. “The kids” there are creating the amazing things “to get veterans – in fact anyone – rejoining the simple activities we take for granted in life”.

3-D motion capture for golf swing analysis comes from TaylorMade. That inspired The Wounded Warrior project: What if  learning to PLAY a game like golf could make rehab fun?

Using the high resolution system that helps Tour players and amateurs alike see their swing with 1/10 degree accuracy, we can show disabled Veterans how they are moving. The built-in biofeedback capability can then be used to help them move more efficiently. Hopefully, with the success of this program, we’ll be able to expand service offerings to anyone who has been injured and needs to learn how to move again.

So, yeah — I will happily talk about their first golf tournament. Because I can’t think of a worthier cause.

And just to round out  how connected things are for me in golf still — it’s held at Harmon Golf in Rockland, MA.

Craig Harmon is my youngest son’s godfather. And the head pro at Harmon Golf in Rockland is, I believe, my favorite all-time caddy of TJ’s — Tom Cavicchi. Someone I haven’t seen in — oh, 25 years?? — but have never forgotten.

Golf’s latest lesson to me:

Amazing thing are taking place in the world of golf technology that will make a difference in our veterans’ lives.

Inspiring people are creating brilliant programs. And even non-golfer, non-tech people like me can help in a small way–  like writing about it.

PGA Tour hopeful John Raser pays attention

The small act of paying attention can take you a long way.

– Keanu Reeves

It might seem as though I haven’t been paying attention to this blog.  Months have gone by and I haven’t posted at all.  What’s my problem?

It hasn’t been for lack of attention. I’ve been thinking about this blog all the time. But  I’ve been paying attention to the wrong things.

First of all, I’m frustrated by the theme’s lack of options and other tech matters. I want to convert the theme (the platform, the literal layout and function, not what I’m writing about) to something with much more ability to be customized.

But I can’t seem to get that done – I need tech help. So I let the tech issues get in the way of actually working and writing it. I let my attention swerve from my original purpose — to build content for an eventual book. How silly. So for now, I’m going to keep going until I can get the tech problems worked out.

And my last post brought unwanted attention to the fact that I’m actually writing this blog at all.  It caused a small blip in my family. “Someone” wasn’t happy about it. I’m not writing anything that could be construed as slander but I am telling stories. I’m trying to be as truthful and authentic as I can.

As part of a writer’s life, it’s a fact that you’re going to ruffle feathers — if not much worse — when you write about your personal stories and they include people you know. Especially your family.

My sister gave me a t-shirt that says: Be Careful, Or You’ll End Up In My Novel. So very true.

So anyway — I stopped writing and got worried for a while. But I’m over it.

The point is, my attention got sidetracked, and that can disrupt the positive effects of paying attention in life.

I try to pay attention to every single day. To large and small things. The feel of the weather when I’m outdoors. The sounds of the day — insects whirring with the heat, the pound of footsteps as a runner comes up the sidewalk; a train whistle as the the one train that goes through town on Thursdays passes. Church bells. Paying attention grounds me. It keeps me in the present.

I listen and pay attention to what people are saying to me – the tone of voice, their body language; the quick smile in their eyes in a brief exchange. I read and pay attention to what’s happening in my own industry or in a client’s. I pay attention to what’s going on as I’m driving. I pay attention to my dog when his playfulness turns to urgency — and he needs to get outside. (Because it never pays to ignore an urgent dog.)

I see so many people who aren’t paying attention — and in the end, it’s going to negatively impact their day or relationships or their lives. They’ll miss so much. The day is loaded with tiny miracles waiting to be noticed, waiting to be paid attention.

So what does this have to do with golf, you may well ask.

I decided to ask a couple of my “golf guys” on social media.  Both of them are aiming to get on the TOUR, so they know a lot about what it means to pay attention to their lives and goals.

I’ve written about Phil Bundy before.  Here’s what he had to say:

“For me, paying attention – or being reflective – is important in golf as it is in life. After each time you hit a shot or finish a round, you have the opportunity to calmly reflect and process feedback mentally to improve future performance.”

I love that Phil equates paying attention to being reflective. When you give your attention to something, it often leads to more thought on that particular thing. Thought  can stir curiosity to learn more about it. Learning leads to focus. Where might focus lead?

By the way, Phil has a wonderful blog. You can find it here.

John Raser is a 27 year old Professional Golfer and entrepreneur from Orlando, Florida. He blogs/vlogs about his road to the PGA Tour.  He’s younger than my own boys but one of the smartest, savviest young golfers I’ve seen on social media (Twitter, Facebook, Flickr). He gave me his answer via Facebook:

“Paying attention” — In golf you’ve got to be very detail oriented. I think all good players subconsciously pick up little swing nuances from observing other great players. It might be the way a guy walks into a shot, or his waggle, or even more technical swing positions. Being detailed oriented and paying attention also encompasses the way you walk and carry yourself on the golf course in competition. It’s the way you think. It’s your inner self-talk. It also means being mindful of all outside variables such as wind, grain, lie, and the slope of the terrain. Be observant. Take it all in and process it.

In business it is important to pay attention to what your peers and competitors are doing. Stay up on current trends in your industry or niche. See what’s working and what’s not. Then after finding what works, be creative and find a way to do it better than anyone else. Paying attention to other people’s ideas and giving them the same consideration you would give your own is big too. All real innovation comes from paying attention to your competitors, consumers, and conscience.

Wow.

I also asked one of my favorite golf bloggers, The Armchair Golfer, to comment about paying attention, and he did. But in looking it up on my email, I think I accidentally deleted it. Because I was not paying enough attention to what I clicked on, probably.

I do remember that Neil talked about how important it was to him to pay real attention to his family , especially to his kids.

I remember that because I couldn’t agree more with him.

If you’ve reached the end of this post, well done. You’ve paid attention for over 1,000 words. And that’s a real accomplishment in a world that doesn’t want to read more than 300-500 words at a time.

I predict you’ll go far. And so does Keanu Reeves.

Photo coutesy of John Raser

2010 at the Masters – photo by Ryan Ballangee @waggleroom

My second visit to the Masters was more of a brush-by.  But it became a family legend.

By 1978, TJ was climbing his way up the money list and showing an impressive flair for performing in majors. We were not yet out of our 20’s, but now comfortable with Tour Life and traveling.

[I just had to do a little figuring. I think I said in my last post that TJ played in the 1977 Masters. Wrong. ]

We were also one of the larger families on Tour. Matt was nearly 8 years old — now a veteran traveler, navigator and bell-captain. John was five and Graham — born prematurely the previous May — was 11 months old.  Each spring, when the Tour came back east, we’d go on the road with TJ for a month.

Augusta was our last stop that trip before the boys and I headed home back north.

TJ rented a house in Augusta for the Masters stay.  It was a pretty place on a nice side street and a welcome break from having to live in hotels with little boys. We traveled in a Lincoln Continental the size of the Titanic. The trunk was enormous – packed to the brim for a mobile household.

Greensboro always preceded the Masters. I just remember Greensboro, NC being cold – it was a relief to get to the warmth of Georgia in the springtime. And the house had a small yard with a brick patio.  Perfect for  boys cooped up too long and a baby in a stroller.

There wasn’t any point to the boys and me staying for the tournament. Back then, child care was dicey on the Tour — the Tour Wives of today have it so much more together — and I would have wanted to be at the course following TJ. The plan was that I would leave with the boys and one of our very good friends – Graham’s godfather — would arrive after me, then TJ’s parents, and his new sponsor &his wife, to stay at the rented house.

And the Masters — I knew — was no place for kids. TJ needed to concentrate, and the week’s guests from home would be in no mood for the restrictions of children’s bedtimes or meal schedules or playtime.

TJ loved having us with him on Tour.  It was always hard to say goodbye. I had the house and kids to keep me busy at home. He had his game, and the courses, and one hotel room after another — home was on the other end of the hotel telephone line.

There was no texting, no web cams, no cell phones to keep in constant touch. It was hard, and it was  lonely.

But it was the Masters!

He was there again! Another invitation, more status, more validation as a player. He was becoming a media darling. He was gaining the attention of the CBS television talent.  He’d been taken under the wing of one of golf’s great champions. He was excited.

He was nervous, of course.

And so was I. But not about the Masters.

Back in February, he’d taken a week off from the Tour — I think he skipped Hawaii — and came home. He hadn’t been home since a couple of days after Christmas. February in western New York State is bitter with cold and often knee-deep in snow.

It got hip-deep in snow that week with a storm. Normally I did the shoveling, but TJ took over. I fixed us lunch, nursed the baby and put Graham down for a nap.  The boys were at  school.

“A nap sounds good,” TJ said. “I’m freezing.”… Why didn’t I join him? he asked…

I knew that smile. And with the wind whipping snow against our bedroom window, I did.

Now it was April. Now I was 10 weeks pregnant. And I hadn’t told him yet.

Because — when was there ever a good time, I wondered? On the phone? No. During tournaments on the road? No.

The night before we left, I couldn’t keep it from him a minute longer. Yeah, I know it was Masters time.

Call it hormones, or sadness at another stretch of weeks apart, feeling alone –  I broke into tears and I told him.

To his great credit , he laughed with relief. He had no idea why I was crying. I might have said I was sick. (I was fairly nauseous.) I might have had bad news about  family — or whatever.  It could have been worse.

But the news was that we were going to have 4 children. The youngest would end up 15 months apart — Colin was a preemie too. TJ had his own entourage.  Next to Johnny Miller, TJ was the Big Daddy on Tour.

I left with the boys (all “4″ of them) feeling better. We managed traveling with three children, we could do it with four. Although probably less often.

The next night, Graham’s godfather sat with TJ watching TV in the rented house. He was concerned. TJ sat in silence, staring like a zombie. The friend thought it was anxiety about TJ’s parents and sponsor arriving — pressure.

It became a family legend – a story repeated many times by the godfather — of how, just before TJ’s second Masters, he went into shell shock over becoming the father of four.

The golf nuts just couldn’t believe I’d pick that time.

The Masters!! Of all tournaments!! — But that’s life.

I think TJ made the cut that year.

Yes, I’ve been to The Masters. Twice.

Let me qualify that. I’ve been to Augusta National and actually walked the course and followed TJ once. That was his first Masters in 1975.  The second time, in 1977, I was there the week before the Masters started. TJ was playing for the second time — but I left just before the start.

If you read my post Why I Missed Hazeltine, you’ll know that my experiences of majors were sometimes wholly off the course itself.

So you should know I don’t write about the play-by-play. I’m all about the life beyond and around the actual Tour event. But still, I have plenty of memories of the Masters experience. No matter what, if you’ve been there, you never forget it for a lot of reasons. Here are mine:

The Masters 1975. A Cinderella Story.

The invitation actually comes (came? maybe they changed it) as an actual engraved invitation. Like a wedding invitation. I knew when TJ received his in the mail that I would have it framed for him to hang on our wall. He earned it by winning the very last tournament of 1974, his rookie year — The Texas Open in San Antonio. He ate the course up to win and save his Tour Card.

Of course, with an event like that, a small entourage from home went down to Augusta to see him compete. Among them were his parents, his first sponsor Billy, and two “regulars” of TJ’s Oak Hill pals, Buzzy and Hozzy. And me, of course. There may have been a few more guys from Rochester who had tickets.

As a rabbit’s wife, I was still feeling on the outside of the golf insiders. So when I rode down the tree-lined avenue of Augusta National, I didn’t get a chill. In fact, I felt cynical.

People were practically prostrate with worship at this old-time southern golf club.

I remember a veranda with white-coated waiters serving drinks. I remember TJ being assigned a weathered veteran black caddy. I remember everyone talking in much quieter, more polite voices than they did at other Tour events and clubhouses.

The course was pretty. I liked the azaleas and magnolias and rhododendrons. The fairy-like dogwoods peeking out of pine stands. The greens surrounded by these flowers, looking like a venue for a bridal shower.

But the You-should-be-so-grateful-to-be-here insinuations floated around me like a mist, and I, unsure, not out of my 20’s, non-golfer, member of a women’s consciousness raising group (It  was the ’70’s after all), female persona-non-grata that I was –  I felt false if I put on that I was delirious with the idea that I was privledged to be there.

I was there to support my husband — to share in his happiness at achieving a pinnacle in any golfer’s life.

I remember walking the course during his practice round. I got blisters from the free golf shoes I got from Foot Joy. Luckily, I brought a paperback. While we were waiting in between shots, I read. This scandalized my MIL. (See, again, the Hazeltine post).

So I went back to the clubhouse. I think I was only allowed inside to use the ladies room. Male bastion and all that. As I came on the screened door, it flew open and the man coming out and I bashed into each other. This is how I met Arnold Palmer.

I remember Arnie grabbing me by both arms and apologizing. Are you okay!? — I remember how fit and strong he was. His smile. That he looked me in the eyes, didn’t brush by with a cursory “sorry.”

Ha! That certainly impressed  the MIL and everyone else we were with.

I also remember  a riotous dinner with TJ, Billy, Hozzy, Buzzy and I at some very well-known local resaturant, where half the tournament went to eat. It was the first time I felt accepted into the “guys” circle. The first of many, many dinners on Tour where I was the only female at the table and — for better or worse — gained entrance into the world of men.

I don’t remember if TJ made the cut that year. I don’t think so. I think we stayed for Saturday and Sunday and followed a couple of player friends. I don’t remember which ones.

I don’t remember who won that year.  Oh. Gary Player. (I looked it up.)

The 1977 Masters was unforgettable for me — and for TJ — however.  Even if I didn’t get to the course.

But that’s for Part II. Stay tuned.

It may seem as if I abandoned this blog. If you thought that, I don’t blame you. But I haven’t. I’ve just been “going through.”

One of my favorite sayings — a mantra for me — came from the incredibly awful ’80’s movie Flash Gordon. The King of the Tree People (played by Timothy Dalton) has Flash in this gnarly forest and Flash has to find his way out.

“Sometimes,” Dalton says,  “The only way out is through.”

We were living in Florida at the time. TJ had quit playing and was working for the Tour. I was deep into trying to control what I could not control. Aside from having a crush on Dalton, which is why I was paying attention to the scene, this line just stood out to me. Little did I know then how that line would impact me a few years later.

Life fell apart after we moved back north. I liken it to a nuclear explosion. Everything changed for us — career-wise, financially, and in our marriage. I fell into a black hole, but fortunately I fell in the right place.

I was wrapped in support and love. I found some of the best friends I’ve had in my life. And part of what I learned (which was massive and life-changing) was that there is no way around the times that are bad. No way to avoid those emotions and fears that I’d been stuffing pretty much my entire life.

The only way out is through.

To go through all of it. Step by step. Day by day. Sometimes, minute by minute. If you’re in a tunnel, you must go through it to get out into the light again.

That’s what I did.

About three years later, I won a state-wide  speech and professional development competition for businesswomen. The speech was about an obstacle for women in the workplace. I chose my number one obstacle – fear. And I talked about risk as my ally.  I was asked to give that speech to other women’s groups all around New York State.

By then I knew that not only must you go through — you may also have to “take the leap and build your wings on the way down.”

Sometimes I’ve found myself on a figurative cliff. I have to make the choice to either be pushed off or jump.

I’m back on the cliff again. I feel pushed. The economy and my own doubts about what I should do next are forcing me in a new direction.

I have no idea what to do. If I have to be on a cliff, I’d much rather be on the cliffside of Santorini Island in Greece, sitting on a terrace overlooking the Aegean. But instead I’m where I am, and the “view” isn’t pretty.

While I’ve been away from this blog, Tiger’s life blew up. And he too will only find his way out by “going through.” No one is immune.

So I will keep telling myself to keep going. Go through the scary dark forest of the Tree King. Feel the fear and keep going despite it. I can survive. I’ve done it before.

If you want to listen in and it helps you, we can make it out together.

So I was on Twitter this morning, as I am most weekdays (hey, it’s business) and I was reading the usual motivational, uplifting, positive, inspiring thoughts and quotes that normally fill up my stream. This is because I follow a lot of great people… positive, passionate people… professionals and many entrepreneurs… all sort of preaching to the choir, because we tend to follow like-minded colleagues.

And I felt… annoyed, actually. It was just all so — positive and motivational. And so alike. Boring, sort of. I don’t always feel upbeat every minute of the day.

I’m known as a very positive, good-energy person. Some people think I’m inspiring. I am, most times.

But this morning I had a headache. I was looking at the tweets (short communiques) and looking for a laugh. Irreverence. Satire. I find that, too, on Twitter.

So I asked — is it just me, or is anyone else overdosing on all the motivation? I felt kind of nauseous, like I’d eaten too much chocolate.

Leave it to my “golf guys” on Twitter to come to the rescue.

Mike Gray – who is known as @doubleeagle on Twitter, made a wise-guy response, which perked me up considerably. In fact, my headache disappeared.  He called himself a “wisenheimer” — a term I haven’t heard for many years, but a common one in my family.

I answered that I also have a Wisenheimer side — which I have repressed for years by my Good Girl side.

Don’t be afraid to let it fly, he answered, because repressing it can’t be good.

And I don’t know why… feel like lettin’ my freak flag fly…

(from Almost Cut My Hair — Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young)

Let It Fly — a golf exhortation.

Letting it fly in golf refers to the ball — hit it big and let it fly down the fairway, straight and true. Let it fly toward  the pin. Toward the place you want to be. Free it. Hit it with all the talent and skill and power you possess.

That’s my interpretation anyway.

Free.

Yes, I possess a wisenheimer inside — a wry, satirical, funny smart aleck who loves to laugh at humor that’s slightly twisted or “inappropriate.” I used to write humor when I first started publishing. I did improv in college, and wrote wicked things as a teen.

jeez.

What happened, I wondered?

Well, being a Tour Wife took a lot of it away. In all the craziness and responsibility, in being in the public eye and representing TJ, I had to be the grownup. The funnier and more original TJ became, the more serious I was.

Then I had to become A Professional, supporting myself. I am my business. I have to be credible. Not “silly” — or who will take me seriously?

So. Here I am — boring the crap out of myself. My Wisenheimer is getting headaches from it. She’s also kicking at the door of the closet Good Girl has kept her in.

This all makes me edgy and fidgety about how I want to write and work at this point in my career.

I can do better, I think. But I need to do it differently.

I need to let it fly.

How about you? Are you keeping yourself and your talents under wraps to follow someone else’s rules?

Tell me about it.

PS – I know I was going to write about The Grass That Saved a Golf Course next — and I will. But this was more important today.

PPS — Be sure to visit Mike Gray’s site www.lifeintherough.com, too — He’s a brilliant, generous and fun guy.

Where in the world is the golf course pictured here?

It’s Kauri Cliffs in New Zealand.

Kauri Cliffs is just one of the 60-odd golf courses that I had to choose from for a guest post on travel writer Andy Hayes‘ blog Sharing Experiences. You can read about 11 of the World’s Most Inspiring Golf Courses there.

Kauri Cliffs didn’t make the cut — not because it isn’t drop-dead inspiring for its location, design, etc — but because I had to choose between it and another blow-you-away course in New Zealand — Cape Kidnappers.  Here’s a peek at what you’ll find on the blog post…

This is Cape Kidnappers — built on 600 foot high bluffs that “jut out on the ocean like fingers of God” (I wrote that — read the post).  I love course designer Tom Doak’s statement: “If it were any bigger or any more dramatic, it would probably be cordoned off as a national park.”

Choosing the 11 was a monumental job, as you can imagine. I had certain criteria — there had to be something inspiring about each course — the topography, natural environment, a place with heart… mere awards and great PR were not enough. Also, it had to appeal to non-golfers as a travel destination.

The course had to generate questions like these…

Where can you play 144 holes in 24 hours all on one course?

What golf course in the longest in Africa and situated in a huge bushveld wildlife sanctuary, where you can go on a safari after you’re finished playing golf?

What do Tom Kite and Donald Trump have in common?

What course has the only natural island green called “Tail of the Whale?”

Where will you find the world’s original Redan hole?

Choosing the only U.S. course I could (Andy’s rule — they had to be from all around the world) was the hardest. About 85% of the courses that contacted me were in the U.S.

In the end — my U.S.  choice may surprise you. But it certainly met the inspiration factor.

Now I still have a great many courses that I would like to tell you about — and I will, here on Changing Your Grip.

Coming next time: The Grass That Saved a Golf Course From a Hurricane.

We’re going to have fun with this.

I got a call today from my ex-mother-in-law. That in itself is a milestone, but on top of it she and my former father-in-law want to take me out to lunch this week.

That’s nice, you say. What’s it got to do with anything?

Coincidentally, everyone’s focused on Hazeltine Golf Club in Minnesota right now, for the 91st PGA Championship. Hazeltine and my in-laws — now this takes me back. I won’t be at Hazeltine for the PGA. In fact, I haven’t been to Hazeltine since the U.S. Open in 1970. But I never forgot the tournament.

The course I don’t remember… except for being there with my in-laws.

I was a disappointment as a daughter-in-law to rabid golfing in-laws. They both play and they’re in their 80’s now. At the time they were at their prime in the country club golf set, and regularly in the paper for their constant presence as TJ grew from sub-junior dominator to college NCAA star.

And then he fell in love with a non-golfing girl. And we married while still in college. And then we had Matt. And I became a nightmare in their eyes. A career-killer.

TJ qualified as an amateur to play in the 1970 U.S. Open. It was his first major. It was my first big golf tournament as a young wife and very new mother. The in-laws decided to go and — probably reluctantly — decided to take me too.

Matt was about 8 weeks old. He stayed at home with my parents.

In a way, Hazeltine was kind of a baby too. This was its first major and it was in the middle of nowhere. Much was written about it being carved from a cow pasture. That much I remember. There was controversy.

So we get to Minnesota, and something arrives with me.

*** RED ALERT: If you are squeamish or uber-male, the following contains information of a female nature — but not that much. I leave it to your imagination. ***

It’s The First One after delivering… and sometimes that’s a doozy. This was a doozy. I made it to the first practice round and started to walk with his mother, but walking became problematic (are you still with me?) and I had to go back to the hotel via courtesy car.

I think my MIL spared TJ the dreaded trip to the drugstore (you know, guys…that one) but I became a liability to their having a good time. I was young, overwhelmed,scared and in the middle of the biggest tournament in the U.S.  At a hotel near a former cow pasture.

So I called my mom, of course. And she called my OB-GYN. And he said, have her get off her feet and stay flat. In bed. Until it gets better. (Which it did, after a couple of days.)

But this was a major bummer to my former in-laws. I was at the U.S. Open! At Hazeltine! And I was lounging in bed at the hotel! I was missing everything… I was a definite drag as a daughter-in-law. And some kind of weakling child-bearer to boot.

Well, TJ missed the cut. So by the time we were ready to go back home, I was OK. But I never saw a thing, and I have a dim memory of a wide-open course under a Minnesota sky. That’s it.

When I hear the name Hazeltine, that’s what I think of. Being young and clueless. And the new mother of the most perfect baby son.

Sometime after TJ and I split and we got new lives (and they got a new daughter-in-law who does play golf) — the sands of time wore away their memories of me in a negative light, and now I’m their long-lost daughter-in-law. I was freed from the old role, and it is easy to be kind.  Plus, we shared a life that meant a lot to both of us. In very different ways. But it was, as my son Colin calls it “Our Old Life.” We were all there.

The Lesson is: Everyone deserves a Gimmee now and then. You might even get a nice lunch out of it.

Extreme 19th play off hole in South Africa

Be careful what you ask for.

Especially if you ask for it on Peter Shankman’s media site HARO (HelpAReporterOut). Earlier in the month, I put up a query on HARO asking for suggestions for “The World’s Most Inspiring Golf Courses” for a guest blog post I’m writing for travel writer Andy Hayes‘ blog. Andy is based in Edinburgh, Scotland.

Each day, Shankman sends out a batch of queries from all media morning, noon and evening. My query went out in the evening post, around 5pm. By 10 o’clock that night, I had 27 responses. By the next day, I was heading toward 50. And they kept coming.

This is what I asked for:

As part of a series of posts, I’m looking for golf courses that have an
impact, not only on people’s games, but on their spirits. These are courses
that may have been designed on unusual topographies, in places you’d least
expect, or they can be well-established courses that stand up to the test
of time and beauty. I’m a former PGA TOUR wife, so I’ve seen some great
ones in my day. Yes, let’s acknowledge Augusta National — I’m looking for
the lesser-known inspirations. You don’t have to play golf to appreciate a
place. I’m looking for the ones that make you say — “You should see this!”
On the flip side, a sweet little course that soothes your soul can also
qualify as inspirational.

Well, I’m here to say that the world is full of inspiring golf courses. And I can only use about ten of the nominations for Andy’s post. That leaves so many terrific and deserving courses — the majority of them in the U.S. And there are probably a lot in other parts of the world that don’t read HARO.

So I’m deciding what I will do — because I want to give these courses their time in the spotlight. People who don’t play golf have no idea that — for instance — a golf course can also be a certified Audubon wildlife sanctuary. Or environmentally friendly. Or built to preserve the spectacular natural topography.

I love courses. I’ve written about them in the past for Golf Digest. So you just might see a series about them apprearing on this blog. What do you think?

The photo above is of one of the most spectacular and unusual golf courses in the world — The Legend Golf and Safari Resort in South Africa, with its Extreme 19th playoff hole — which is accessible only by helicopter.

See? That’s the kind of thing that even non-golfers would be interested in. I know I’m excited!

Sometimes, the hardest thing in golf — or life — is to Let It Happen.

This is one of my main principles in Changing Your Grip. As a presentation, this nugget was one of my top five.  Of course, it’s also a gem from golf itself.

Performance psychologists refer to top players, athletes, speakers, competitors, business people — heck — anyone who wants to achieve — as being “in the Zone” or “in flow.” It’s the moment when, after much preparation and practice, each of us comes to the point of peak performance.

If we reach the Zone or are in flow, we let go of our conscious efforts and slip into a place where we fly. We don’t strain or struggle. Everything works perfectly. We seem to glide on passion, soar on the pure joy of doing whatever it is we love.

As a writer, this comes to me once I get beyond that opening sentence. Before that, there have been many hours of preparation — maybe I’ve done research and interviews. I’ve organized and transcribed notes. Like pieces of a puzzle coming together, I know what the “picture” should look like — how it should flow, where it should transition, how to bring the ending back to my beginning point.

In golf, it’s the same thing — having the right equipment, taking lessons, practicing, stepping up to the first tee. Visualizing the first shot.

At some point, if all goes well, you catch a rhythm and take off. The words come, the inspiration flows. The ball goes where you intend it to go. You get lost in the moment. You’re present –not  thinking about what happened an hour or two days ago, not thinking about going to the bank later… Etc… Etc… All the head chatter fades away to silence.

Letting it happen means you let go of the control. You let go of the steering wheel. (Of course, if you’re playing golf — don’t let go of the club. We don’t want any seven irons flying through the air and decapitating someone.)

“Nnnnaaaahhhhnnnaaaahhh… Nnnniiiihhhhnnniiihhhhhnnnn…”

– Chevy Chase in Caddy Shack

The beautiful thing about it is that — in flow — it’s as if someone or something has taken over and you’ve become a channel, a conduit for the best to move through you into being. It’s a wonderful feeling — endorphins carry you along. The complete natural high.

Yeah, it all sounds so simple. And I’ve actually been able to achieve that state at crucial times.  But it sure doesn’t happen every day.

Learning to let it happen has been — and continues to be — one of my greatest life lessons. Because I was once locked into thinking I had to control as much as I could. I’ve been an achiever all my life. It’s hard for me to let go of the idea that if I’m not accomplishing or achieving something every day — well, things might fall apart.

I was probably at my worst in this respect when TJ was playing the Tour. So much depended on me at home — the care of our home, and most importantly, the care of our precious boys. I felt that I had to be a rock for TJ, the most supportive and loving long-distance wife in the world, so that he could find the Zone without worrying about home.

Well. I began to believe that if I sent out enough energy, enough will — I could prevent disaster — on the course while TJ was playing, or at home, or in my own career…

What happens is — You start getting in your own way. You’re blocking the good that you so desire. On the course, I would see players struggling. Their faces showed the straining inside, the small (or in cases like TJ, not so small) expressions of frustration, the knit brows, the gripping and re-gripping of clubs as they walked from one green to the next tee. The tight body posture.

These days, I’m still struggling with letting “IT” happen. Because I don’t know what “it” is. There’s a big question mark. Most of the friends I have are uncomfortable with  uncertainty. And we all seem to have so much of it these days. Though on the outside, not much seems to have changed, I’ve sensed seismic shifts. There is no escaping change. And this next one may be huge for me.

With my old “grip” on things, I would flail and thrash and get in my own way.  I would fear the worst. But I’m learning to let it happen. Because whatever “it” is could also be something good for me. The coin’s in the air. Maybe I need to step out of the way and let the very best flow to me and through me.

How about you? Do you struggle with letting go? Have you ever let it happen and gotten great results? Or do you think that’s just a fairy tale – and you make your own luck?