Saturday morning from the rough…

Saturday morning. From the rough.

I’ve been sitting at my desk all week… staring at emails like they personally wronged me… nodding in meetings like I give a damn… but somewhere behind my eyes I’ve been standing on a green.

Because last Sunday?

Man… last Sunday felt like mercy.

I didn’t have my best off the tee. Driver was acting like it had its own agenda… little push here, little fade there… one ball that took a hard left like it remembered an ex it wasn’t over yet.

But my short game…

Good Lord.

That part of me showed up dressed like it had something to prove.

Chips checking up like they had manners.

Pitches landing soft like they’d been taught right.

Putts… just falling.

Not dropping by accident either… I’m talking center cup, no doubt, walk-it-in-before-it-gets-there kind of putts.

That dangerous kind of round.

The one that gets in your head all week.

So there I’ve been… stuck at my desk in New Hampshire, spreadsheets open, coffee going cold… and I’m daydreaming about that one little pitch on 12 that checked twice and rolled up close like it was trying to impress me.

That’s the stuff that ruins a working man.

Because now I know it’s in there.

And when you know it’s in there… sitting in an office feels like being grounded as an adult.

I’ve had full conversations this week where I nodded at the right time, said “yep, makes sense,” and didn’t hear a damn word… because in my head I’m lining up a 15-footer, seeing the break, feeling that quiet right before the stroke.

People think golf is about hitting balls.

It ain’t.

It’s about chasing a feeling you barely get to hold onto.

And work has a funny way of dragging you away from it.

Emails don’t care that your wedge game is dialed.

Deadlines don’t give a damn that you were rolling putts like a man with purpose.

Nobody at the office is impressed that you finally figured out how to stop blading chips across the green like a scared rabbit.

They just keep talking.

And you sit there… knowing full well there’s a version of you out there right now… standing over a ball… calm… locked in… dangerous.

Tomorrow I get back out there.

And I already know what’s gonna happen.

First hole, I’ll step up thinking I’ve got it all figured out… thinking last Sunday wasn’t a fluke… thinking I’ve turned some kind of corner.

And golf… being the petty, beautiful thing it is…

Will either let me believe it…

Or remind me real quick who’s in charge.

Either way… I’ll take it.

Because sitting at a desk all week dreaming about golf?

That’s just life telling you where you’d rather be.

Now if you’ll excuse me… I’ve got one more sip of coffee before I go pretend to care about emails again… and try not to take a practice swing in the middle of the office like a grown man who’s losing his grip.