The tee box sat about 300 yards from the pin, with the sun casting a shadow that covered half of the fairway. The breeze was light, no bunkers or water to contend with. Drive, chip, putt – an easy birdie, right?
The thing about golf is that one great hole makes you believe you can always play like that; one bad hole makes you believe you’ll do better next time.
Last Wednesday, after work, I loaded the golf clubs into my car and set out to play nine at the local club I’m a member of. I’ve played the game since I was little, and I’ve always found it to be relaxing. Having a course less than a mile from the house has been a blessing.
As I left the house, my wife asked why I wasn’t playing with anyone. I usually do, but this time, I felt it wasn’t necessary. I had another motivation in mind.
It was time with me and my own thoughts that I was seeking – the rare kind of quiet where the only sound is the crunch of your shoes on the fairway and the thud of the ball off the clubface.
That alone time mattered to me because it allowed me to do two things:
1. Focus on playing golf — and improving my game — without the pressure to perform
2. Reflecting on my work — away from any screen
Most days are a cycle, and unless you notice it, you never know when to step back. The routine of going to the gym, dropping the kids off at school, sitting in front of your computer with a cup of coffee to answer an inbox full of unread emails and a queue of Slack messages, and then meetings – the list could go on.
These are necessities born of choices: choosing to stay healthy, choosing to be present for your family, choosing to shoulder your work. But stacked together, they can feel like gears in a machine, each turning only because it turned the day before. And at some point, you forget you’re not the machine — you’re the one who built it.
I often ask myself: What’s the one thing I could do today that I didn’t plan or expect? Many days, I don’t have an answer. But when I do, that unplanned thing feels like an accomplishment in itself, shocking the system, such as stepping onto the golf course after work last week.
I paused my smoothly operating weekday evening routine so I could see beyond my work and focus on purpose. That pause wasn’t a setback – the system would resume – but the interruption shifted my perspective. I didn’t think about all of the things I had to do, but what was most important and whether I was approaching each the best way possible.
When your mind locks onto something new, it clears the mental clutter. Priorities are reevaluated, and when you return to work, you do so with a sharper focus on what truly matters.
I’ll admit, I don’t take these breaks enough. Maybe that’s why I value them so much when I do.
I may have left the course without a birdie – or even par – but with something better: perspective. A cleaner swing and a clearer, more focused mind.