Changing Your Grip

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.

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.

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?