Day of Purpose #8

From the epilogue in one of Rick Reilly’s books (Missing Links), about a guy struggling to figure himself out and play competitive golf at the same time – a pretty tall order.


I still love the game . . . I learned to love the shot I’m hitting right now and not brood about the one that came before it.

I found out I don’t need to break 70 every day to love it and once I figured that out, I stopped needing to tie my 9-iron to a rope behind my car to punish it quite as often.

I love golf for all the times when it’s just the twilight and you and the crunch of your spikes on the fall leaves. I love it for the walk you get down the middle of the fairway after you pipe one or the way you get to hold your putter in your hand for 200 yards after you starch a 3-iron dead on the middle center groove. I love it for all the times you get to watch your ball fall against pink-and-purple skies.

I found golf is a lot like life. Sometimes you’re dancing and sometimes you’re in the gunch and it’s all your own doing. Nobody threw you a yellow-hammer curve or a fastball at the knees, or put overspin on a killer serve or threw a great block or fed you a perfect pass. Not your worthy opponent. Not your therapist. Not your wife. Not your inner child. Not your father.