Saturday morning from the rough..

Saturday morning from the Rough

I got paid to play golf Wednesday.

Now before anybody gets jealous, let’s be clear…

If I’m the best golfer on your scramble team, you boys might as well stop at the clubhouse on the way to the first tee and ask what time they hand out the participation ribbons.

We weren’t chasing trophies.

We were chasing golf balls.

And based on the number we donated to the woods, I think Mother Nature owes us a thank-you card.

But you know what?

It was still a damn good day.

Sometimes golf isn’t about shooting your best score.

Sometimes it’s just about being outside with good people, talking a little trash, laughing when somebody skulls a wedge forty yards over the green, and remembering that life doesn’t always have to be productive to be worthwhile.

That realization hit a little different this week.

Most mornings this week I was up around 5:00 a.m.

Coffee.

Silence.

The house still asleep.

And me sitting in front of my computer editing The Long Road North.

I love this book.

I believe in this book.

But this week the book fought back.

Editing isn’t like writing.

Writing is creating.

Editing is reopening.

Every chapter asks, “Did this really happen?”

Every paragraph asks, “Are you sure you want people to know that?”

Some old wounds I’d forgotten were still there got scratched open again.

Not enough to knock me down.

Just enough to remind me they never completely disappear.

Healing is a funny thing.

The scars get smaller.

Life gets bigger.

But every now and then something bumps into one of those old places and you remember exactly where you came from.

Then…

Because apparently I’m still a work in progress…

I had a little too much bourbon Thursday night.

Nothing catastrophic.

Nobody had to come bail me out of jail.

Nobody woke up to a viral Facebook video of me trying to explain SEC football to a mailbox.

I just got in my feelings.

Loneliness.

Fear.

A little shame.

The kind of stuff bourbon never creates but has a way of convincing you deserves a microphone after midnight.

The good news?

Morning came anyway.

It always does.

The coffee still tasted good.

The sun still came up.

Life was still waiting on me.

And somewhere in the middle of all of that…

I got to spend time with Miss Hadley.

Now if you’ve never had a granddaughter smile at you like you’re the greatest thing that’s ever happened to the world, I highly recommend it.

It’s hard to stay wrapped up in your own head when a tiny little human thinks you’re basically a superhero because you can make funny noises and play peekaboo.

She doesn’t care if the book gets published.

She doesn’t care if the podcast grows.

She doesn’t care what I shot on the golf course.

She just knows I’m Papa.

Honestly…

That’s a pretty good title.

This week reminded me that life isn’t lived in straight lines.

It’s birdies and double bogeys.

It’s quiet mornings and loud thoughts.

It’s good decisions followed by a few that make you shake your own head.

It’s laughing with friends on a golf course, wrestling with old ghosts before sunrise, and ending the week with a little girl who reminds you what actually matters.

At 55, I’m finally starting to understand something I wish I’d learned a whole lot sooner.

Peace isn’t the absence of bad days.

It’s choosing not to let the bad days become your address.

So next week I’ll get back up at 5:00.

I’ll pour another cup of coffee.

I’ll keep editing.

I’ll probably lose another dozen golf balls.

I’ll keep chasing this podcast.

I’ll hug my wife.

I’ll spoil my granddaughter.

And by the grace of God, I’ll keep becoming the man I spent most of my life looking for.

Have a good weekend, y’all.

And if you’re on a scramble team this weekend…don’t call me unless you’re looking for comic relief. My short game still believes it’s playing a different sport. ⛳🥃