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.

Why I Don't Believe in New Year's Resolutions

This year I expect to see many positive changes in my life. I am anticipating progress in my career and my marriage. I plan to become much better in Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu. I joined a new gym for strength and conditioning (paid in full for a year). I bought an unlimited yoga pass (paid in full for a year). . . but I didn't make any New Year's resolutions.

I think Francis Spufford summed it up well in his description of the human propensity to foul* things up (HPtFTU): 

You’re lying in the bath and you notice that you’re thirty-nine and that the way you’re living bears scarcely any resemblance to what you think you’ve always wanted; yet you got here by choice, by a long series of choices for things which, at any one moment, temporarily outbid the things you say you wanted most.

This is why our New Year's resolutions fail; we choose what we want immediately rather than what we say we really want. We see this pop up again and again in our culture. C. S. Lewis said that our problem is not desires that are too strong, but rather that our desires are too weak. We do not hold out for that which really matters. Similar to the sentiment expressed by Roger Waters and David Gilmour, we have a tendency to exchange cold comfort for change.

Given my HPtFTU, which I believe we all possess, I don't believe that I can become a better person. (This is another discussion for another day.) I do, however, believe that I can learn to function better as a person. 

That is why I do not make New Year's resolutions, which typically involve large, lofty goals that I am unlikely to achieve. Rather than setting big goals at a somewhat arbitrary point in the year, I believe in intermittently setting small goals that are more achievable. Done in succession, these small goals and micro choices can lead to big changes over time.

Congratulations to those out there who have set big resolutions and followed through with them. I will not be among this crowd. I will have setbacks -- possibly devastating ones -- as time passes on, but I will be looking forward to the happiness that comes through achieving little goals accomplished by consistent effort and hard work.

*I softened the language a little here.

That Really Cool Move I Learned Last Week But Can't Remember Now

"He has forgotten more techniques than most of us will ever know in our lifetime!" I have heard this said about some of the masters of BJJ before. What a great compliment to pay somebody; I hope people could say this about me someday. Of course, what this saying implies is that the practitioner knows a great deal about BJJ.

As a 'young' blue belt (experience, not age-wise), you could say this statement about me in reference to some people -- those who come to a few classes and never come back. But as time go on, and I spend more and more hours on the mats, I am no longer the new guy in the gym. People come in who are bigger and stronger than I, and I am able to control them because I have learned technique. So now occasionally (only occasionally!) you could say that I have forgotten more BJJ techniques than somebody presently knows. As time goes on, and I leave more sweat, blood, and tears on the mat, I hope that this statement will become more and more true.

What originally got me thinking about this subject is the fact that I have gone to many seminars, many of them two to four hours in length, and I remember very little of what I was taught in the seminars. Of course, one reason is that I have not drilled the techniques enough. I give up on some techniques too easily. But I think the main reason is the sheer abundance of the material. Usually when I go to a seminar, I learn many techniques, but there will be one or two things that really change my game, and I am okay with that.

There are so many techniques that I will never learn them all, but I can think of one simple thing to improve in this area: taking notes. Whether it is a four hour seminar or 30 minutes of instruction in class, it is very easy to jot a few things down to jog my memory. Of course it would be better to be described as a walking encyclopedia of jiu jitsu techniques, but that comes slowly. I think that writing techniques down would be one of the means to that end. I have been told by instructors before that I should be writing things down, but I have just never done it. I also have friends who tell me that they should be journaling their BJJ techniques, but I don't see anybody doing it consistently.

So when you see me scribbling during class, that is what I am doing. I will check back in and present my findings, whether I notice a change right away, or whether it is something that takes place over months or years

A Great Opportunity

I found myself very frustrated this past weekend as I returned from my vacation. My return flight was scheduled to arrive in Columbus at 9:15 pm on Friday night, and I had plans to go to Six Flags the very next morning with my childhood friend, Jonathan Perkins. This is something we do every year, but this time I had scheduled things a little too tight, because I was held up in Customs and did not make it in to Columbus until the next day. Rather than rush our time at King's Island, we decided to reschedule.

Since I was not going to make it to my fun day with Jonathan, I decided to snag one of the last spots at the Roberto "Cyborg" Abreu, hosted by Ohio Combat Sports Academy. I was familiar with Cyborg from BJJ magazine articles and countless posts on the internet, and I was excited to have a session with him in person. There was a good turnout to the seminar despite it's rather steep admission price, and the training was solid. Although I have already forgotten many of the things I was shown, I am confident that I learned several things that will be game-changing for me (and perhaps Dave Freetage will re-teach me some of the things I have forgotten over the next several months).

Perhaps greater than the techniques themselves, Cyborg gave an address to the attendees. Painting a picture with quite colorful language and vivid stories, the professor preached a literal BJJ sermon. He talked at length about growing up and training without a BJJ teacher, his faith in God, and the current state of BJJ. He emphasized that people should respect the more graduated members of the team not because they have a higher rank, but because they have earned respect. Ultimately, according to the master, BJJ is not about the techniques you do, but rather how you do them, and even more importantly, who you are. I think that Cyborg achieved his goal; he shared some techniques with us, but he also did a great job of sharing who he is.

A Bad Ending to a Great Week

Well, the week of jiu jitsu ended on a sour note. Class tonight was led by Delvin Reyes, who is an excellent purple belt, and we worked on an escape from mount, and then a transition into the technical stand from guard (from earlier this week), followed by a very tight arm bar. This was followed by a session of "king of the hill", but it was stopped short in the very first round by an accidental knee to the face of a Canadian gym member who will probably require stitches. I am very grateful to Tomas "Papo" Sone and all of the guys at Jiu Jitsu de la Costa for allowing me to come and train this week. It's definitely a bittersweet time to leave these men and women that I have spent hours on the mats with. Even though we are separated by many language and cultural barriers, I truly feel that jiu jitsu is a bond that transcends all these barriers. This week, I feel as if I have been among family.