Day 2: A Grateful Grind – Lessons from the Course and Life
I woke up at 4 a.m. today, hours before my alarm, restless and unable to fall back asleep. Sleep had abandoned me, but my mind hadn’t, so I decided to make the most of it. I brewed some coffee in the hotel room and grabbed my phone to jot down a few ideas for my side project—anything to keep my hands busy. I even rolled a few putts on the carpet and cleaned my clubs for the third time—anything to channel my nervous energy.
Early Morning Focus: Channeling Nervous Energy
By 6 a.m., I’d packed my bags and was already waiting for breakfast to open. I was ready to fuel up for a long day ahead. When the buffet finally opened, I loaded my plate, making sure I had enough to keep me going through the morning. After checking out and leaving a thank-you note for housekeeping, I hit the road.
Arriving at the course early, I found the place nearly deserted, save for one other player already there. I took my time setting up my cart, then spent the next 30 minutes on the putting green, working on my lag putts. It felt good to be calm and methodical—so much better than yesterday’s nerves. One of the lessons from the course I needed to learn.
Lessons from the Range: Staying Grounded
I warmed up smoothly on the range, going through my usual routine. Nothing extraordinary, but nothing alarming either. I focused on staying in the moment, breathing steadily, and sticking to my routine. Afterward, I took 20 minutes to reflect quietly. Grateful to be here. Grateful to be part of this experience.
As the carts began filling up, I reconnected with my cart partner from yesterday and rolled a few more putts to stay loose. My new partner was someone who had struggled even more than I did the day before. We exchanged encouraging words, and I could feel the atmosphere shift to something more relaxed. I wasn’t playing for a spot on the leaderboard. I was here for the game, for the camaraderie.
A Rough Start
We started on a par 5, but I just couldn’t focus. My first drive left me out of position, and the hole felt like a blur. I stuck to my routine and managed to salvage a bogey. On the next hole, a tough par 3, I misjudged my club choice and came up short—another bogey. Not the start I’d hoped for. Maybe, more lessons from the course i needed to learn.
By the third hole, though, I began to wake up. A wayward second shot put me in a tough spot, but I executed a punch shot out of the bushes perfectly. Though I still bogeyed the hole, that shot gave me something to build on.
Settling In
As the round progressed, I found my rhythm. Five straight pars followed, with one birdie putt lipping out. Each good shot brought a little more confidence, even though my putting was still letting me down. It wasn’t perfect, but I was staying calm. A tribute to the lessons I am learning from the course.
Then came the next par 3. I hit the green in regulation, but my lag putt came up six feet short. And then, a mental lapse. I missed three putts in a row. Four-putt hole. My frustration could have taken over, but I laughed it off. The group chuckled too, and the mood lightened.
The Grind to the Finish
The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the course, and I felt the weight of the tournament creeping into my muscles. Fatigue was setting in, and my performance had been a mix of pars and bogeys, but my putting was still a problem. There were opportunities, but they kept slipping away.
My mind wandered back to my kids—their faces flashing through my thoughts, reminding me of why I was here. My 17-year-old, always so composed, had recently come to me with questions about life and relationships. Charlie, my 4-year-old, full of energy and always ready to learn and pretend. And little Hailey, just 3, whose laughter could light up the darkest days.
As I stood on the 18th tee, looking down the fairway, the pressure really hit. A par 5 to end the tournament. My body was sore, my mind clouded by mistakes. And yet, it wasn’t the game that weighed most on me. It was the thought of returning home with a sense of failure. I had promised my kids I would be there for them, no matter what.
The pressure swelled, but then a small voice inside broke through the noise: I can’t let them see me fail. I promised them I would be there.
I teed up the ball, swung hard—too hard. It sliced, and the ball careened into the rough. I felt a sinking disappointment—not from the game, but from the thought of letting my group down. The thought of failing in front of my kids—the ones who always looked to me for strength, for consistency.
Breathing Deep
“Second-team All-American!” I called out, trying to lighten the mood as I hurried back to the tee. The group laughed, easing the tension for a moment, but my mind didn’t stay with the joke for long. I couldn’t break under the weight of failure. I couldn’t go home and tell my kids that I wasn’t good enough.
I took a deep breath, refocused, and reloaded. This time, I nailed it. A perfect drive down the fairway. The ball soared, cutting through the air with the precision I’d been missing all day. And Yet, more lessons from the course to learn. For a moment, the exhaustion faded, and I found myself reconnected with the present.
The rest of the hole played out as best as I could. My wedge shot wasn’t great, and my putting—well, it remained a struggle. Another three-putt finish, giving me a 9 on the hole. The disappointment lingered, but it didn’t feel like total failure. I chuckled to myself. A fitting end to my first tournament, I thought.
But as I walked off the green, something shifted. The score didn’t feel so heavy. The experience, the lessons, the journey—those were what mattered. It wasn’t about winning or losing; it was about being there for my kids, showing them that life was about perseverance, about bouncing back from setbacks, no matter how big or small.
I thought about my own past—my parents’ divorce, the anger, the confusion, the isolation. My relationship with my father had taught me to guard my vulnerability, but here, on the course, something had changed. I wasn’t trying to outrun my past anymore. I was determined to create something different for my kids—something rooted in emotional openness and love that would be constant and unshakeable.
Reflection and Gratitude
After signing my scorecard for an 86—eight strokes better than the day before—I didn’t feel the sting of disappointment. Lessons I learned from the course through pain. The four-putt and the closing 9 stung, sure, but I felt proud of how I had handled the day overall. The experience had been far more valuable than any number on a scorecard.
Back at the clubhouse, I grabbed some food and chatted with my competitors. The conversations were warm and full of camaraderie, and there were promises to keep in touch. I felt grateful for the experience, for the kindness of my fellow players, and for the chance to challenge myself.
The drive home passed quickly. Too tired to reflect deeply, I felt quiet satisfaction. I had given everything over the past two days. And while there was room for improvement, the lessons I had learned weren’t going anywhere.
When I finally walked through the door, my kids greeted me with excitement. I made it just in time for bedtime stories, and I gave each one of them extra hugs and kisses.
Later, as I sank into bed, aching and tired, I felt overwhelmed by gratitude. I didn’t need to reflect just yet. For now, I was home, tired but fulfilled, surrounded by love.