What I Dislike About Golf

I have broken the dentist code of conduct -- I don't play golf. I am inherently interested in golf as a game, but I have never been a player. There were several factors in my childhood that provided me the opportunity to be roped in to the sport. When I was a child, I spent countless hours playing the Lee Trevino golf game on the computer. My Uncle Mike has been an avid golfer my entire life; he even travels down to Augusta to watch the Masters and then play on the same course. My brother Jay was obsessed with golf when he was younger, and my cousin John is a skilled golfer as well. I even worked for a country club when I was in high school. But none of these ever carried over to playing the real-life game of golf.

Yes, I have ventured out on the course a handful of times, walking the course and sharing a set of woods and irons with somebody else. I have felt the frustration of shanking the ball, and I have tasted the exhilaration that comes from hitting a solid, straight shot. People have told me that this is how the game of golf can invade a person's life: the feeling of hitting a good shot, and the desire to make more and more shots like it. I can clearly comprehend, from just a few brief experiences, how the game could become addictive.

I understand as well that the experience of golf encompasses more than simply the sport itself, rather it is a culture. Some people embrace the opportunity to throw back a few drinks with their friends. Others use the course as a venue for networking and business discussions. Perhaps more business decisions have been negotiated on the greens and fairways than in the boardroom. Still others envision a golf outing as an means of escape from an otherwise hectic life, knowing that they can avoid their desk and computer screen for at least four hours. And for some, the sport provides a combination of the social benefits listed above.

Despite all of these factors, something has kept me from embracing this sport. Perhaps I avoided golf when I was younger because it was cost-prohibitive. Not only would I have faced the initial costs of a set of clubs, but also the ongoing costs of green fees and other associated costs. On top of this, I have always managed to keep myself fairly busy, so I would have been forced to carve out large chunks of time if I wanted to play.

But remaining submerged just beneath the surface, I think another underlying factor was at play: a disdain for the level of decorum that was expected in the game. Although I have, for most of my life, dressed myself in a relatively mainstream or traditional fashion, I have also felt an underlying sense of resentment against people who people who have expected me (whether explicitly or implicitly) to dress or behave a certain way.

I think this has been my biggest turn-off from the game of golf: the minimum standards of dress imposed by the golf courses. Athletes must wear a collared shirt. Players must wear khaki pants or dress slacks to be admitted onto the course. And I am not alone. I think this is why the movie Happy Gilmore had such a devoted following. Adam Sandler's character, an angry hockey reject, had a phenomenal golf game, yet he remained willfully oblivious and apathetic to the social norms typically employed in the sport. This trend has manifested itself in the real world as well, as many of the courses and clubs have relaxed their traditional dress codes and allowed more casual clothing on the courses.

As I reflect on my thought-history regarding the sport of golf, I think the joke may be on me. My life journey has led me to another sport that is steeped in rules, traditions, and social norms: judo. I am a novice judoka, but I have already learned many of the social and ceremonial constructs associated with the sport. I am expected to wear a specific uniform, the judogi/kimono. The various judo associations publish and enforce relatively strict specifications regarding the color and fit of the gi, which must also be freshly laundered. In every practice, the belt must be tied a certain way, and all the players must line-up according to their rank. Nobody speaks while the sensei is speaking, and the athletes typically refer to the instructor as sir, ma'am, or sensei. Practitioners are expected to respond to a number of commands in Japanese. The judoka is required to bow upon entering and leaving the dojo and the mat. Everyone is required to have short, clean fingernails and toenails. In the more traditional dojos, the sensei may enforce these standards by making the judoka sit-out, or by requiring him to perform push-ups or some other physical means of correction.

My disdain for the norms and standards on the golf course juxtaposed with my acceptance of the rules and practices in the dojo reveals a double-standard in my life, and this principle carries over into other aspects of life. I am quick to judge others by their actions while I judge myself by my intentions. I reserve harsher judgment for sins that are not personally tempting to me, while I am often quick to minimize or explain-away my own. In the case of the golf versus judo etiquette dichotomy, I was unaware of this blind spot until sometime earlier this month, when the realization came crashing through into my consciousness.

So I have taken away this principle from my personal musings: In regard to people's behavior and social interactions, I should assume that people have good intentions. This does not mean that I should be naive or place myself into unsafe situations, but I should give people the benefit of the doubt. Especially if they are not harming me or other people, what right do I have to judge their practices? In addition, tastes and preferences change over time. If I scoff at someone's stylistic preferences, whether I label them as low-brow or pretentious, I may very well be criticizing choices that I myself will make in the future. Finally, if any of you have made it to the end of this writing, I have one final conclusion: Try judo, you might like it.

Elevator Music

Elevator music. This is perhaps perceived as the most boring genre of music. Typically, it is music that is designed to blend into the background of a situation. Enter: Teresa Followell. The scene is McDonald's and we are enjoying a fast food treat. Fast food was rare in our household due to both financial and health reasons, but Jay and I were occasionally treated with fast food. Drab elevator music is being piped through the system, slipping into the background ambiance for the majority of the customers. But not for Mom, and consequently, not for me and Jay.

"Listen to the music. What instruments do you hear?"

"I hear the piano," I replied. "And I think that's a flute."

Jay said, "I can hear the drums."

Of course Jay could hear the drums. He went on to become a drummer when he was in high school. I'm not really sure how he did it, but he learned to play the drums on his own. Jay has the uncanny ability to pick out a drum part by ear, and the memory to play it with exquisite precision later. Surely he inherited his musical abilities from Mom. When asked about his musical interests and abilities, all Dad typically has to say is, "I can barely play the radio."

Moments later, I pipe in again, "That's a trumpet." I went on to play the trumpet in middle school and high school. I still have the trumpet in my basement next to all the other musical instrument cases. In fact I have a couple of acoustic guitars, an electric guitar, a mandolin, a bass guitar, and a dulcimer. I can't really play any of these at a high level, but I know how to play them, and I really enjoy the time I spend making music. In fact, I regularly play in the worship team in the church service on Sunday mornings.

Mom has a working knowledge of the violin, clarinet, and keyboard/piano. Throughout our childhood, she strove to instill her love of music into me and Jay, and I strongly believe that it worked. When I am in the office there are dental drills whistling and buzzing, there are children laughing and crying, and there are anxious parents asking questions about their children's oral health. Yet in the midst of all the energy and noise, I can still hear the music that is playing. It weaves itself into the landscape of my my work, my play, and my relationships.

Because I have a mother with an appreciation and a heart for music, my love affair with music began when I as very young. Despite limited time and resources, Mom always did what she could to empower me and Jay to experience and create music. When I step onto an elevator, I do not find myself simply staring awkwardly ahead while a stranger attempts not to make eye contact with me (although that certainly happens). My ears and my brain tune into the music that is playing. The music is not bland. It is alive. It is the soundtrack to my life. And, yes, I think I hear an oboe in the background.

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Vulnerability

In my quest to improve my jiu-jitsu game, I have discovered that I cannot expect to improve very quickly if I rely on my strengths. As a mid-level blue belt, this is something my instructors have to repeat to me on a regular basis. The student who depends too much on his strengths will not develop his skills very effectively. There is a constant battle of short-term versus long-term. If we are focused on "winning" during our training sessions rather than learning, we will not open ourselves up to the wealth of knowledge that comes through trial and experimentation. In order to become mighty, we must first become vulnerable. And over time we will incrementally grow and improve. In fact, my theme for my entire life this past year has been vulnerability. I did not choose this theme, rather this theme emerged through a cloud of sweat and tears. When we encounter challenging situations in life, we are faced with a choice: do we lie down, or do we stand up and fight? True strength is not developed by being strong. True strength is forged in the furnace of trials, in situations where we are honest about our weaknesses and we are humble enough to walk through the trials of life. As I have encountered struggles in my marriage and my career this past year, the road has not been easy, but it has been rewarding. As a result of stripping myself of pretense and becoming vulnerable, I have experienced deeper friendships, a stronger marriage, and greater fulfillment in my career. Success is not a destination but a path, and the path is long and winding. I am thankful for the bruises and scars I have received along the way, and I am excited to see where this path will eventually lead.