Being Ready for the Next Shot
· Being
One tree. One perfect drive ruined. A reflection on recovery, grace, and finding the courage to swing again after life sends you ricocheting backward.
[quote:Golf is the closest game to the game we call life. You get bad breaks from good shots; you get good breaks from bad shots. But you have to play the ball where it lies. — Bobby Jones]
The Most Confident I've Been All Summer
There are moments in life when you become absolutely convinced you've got things figured out. This was one of those moments. I had just hit one of the best drives of my summer. The ball launched off the clubface and sailed straight down the fairway. Not "straight for me." Actually straight. The kind of shot that makes you walk a little taller and start thinking maybe all that practice is finally paying off.
As I headed toward my ball, my confidence grew with every step. I was already imagining the next shot. Maybe this was the beginning of one of those rare rounds where everything comes together. Maybe this was a birdie. Maybe this was a story I'd be telling for months.
The sun was shining. The fairway was wide open. My hip felt great. Life was good. Then I saw the tree. Not a forest. Not a group of trees. One tree. One lonely tree standing directly between me and where I wanted to go.
Now any reasonable golfer would have taken one look and chosen the safe shot. Unfortunately, confidence and reason don't always ride in the same cart. Standing over the ball, I convinced myself I could pull off something special. I visualized the perfect shot. It would start just right of the tree, gently curve back toward the green, and land exactly where I wanted it.
It was beautiful. In theory. Reality had other plans.
I swung, and the ball flew directly into the center of the tree trunk. Not a branch. Not a leaf. Not even the side of the tree. The center. The kind of center that should be studied by mathematicians. If there had been 10,000 square feet of open space and a one-foot-wide tree, I somehow found the tree. NASA couldn't have calculated a more direct path.
The ball ricocheted backward with such force that I briefly wondered if it had somehow reversed time. My friends burst out laughing. I started laughing too. And standing there, staring at a golf ball that was somehow farther from my destination than when I started, I realized something. I've been here before. Not on a golf course.
In life.
A Year Earlier
A year ago, golf wasn't on my mind. I was injured, preparing for a hip replacement, and then learning the often humbling art of recovery. Recovery has a way of changing your perspective. When your body reminds you that time isn't unlimited, you start thinking differently about what matters, how you spend your energy, and who you spend it with.
As I healed, I found myself thinking about experiences more than accomplishments. I wanted to cycle more. Travel more. Hike more. Spend meaningful time with Sarah, my kids, and the people I love. I wanted to invest in things that would continue to bring joy, challenge, and connection for years to come. Golf quietly found its way back into that conversation.
Not because I thought I would become great at it. Trust me, there is plenty of evidence suggesting otherwise. But golf is one of those rare activities that can stay with you throughout your life. It challenges you physically, mentally, and emotionally. It gets you outside. It connects you with people. And every now and then, it teaches you something important about being human.
We All Hit Trees
The more I've played this year, the more I've realized that everyone hits trees. Some are literal. Most aren't.
Sometimes the tree is a setback you never expected. Sometimes it's a closed door. A failed project. A broken relationship. A diagnosis. A disappointment. A season that didn't unfold the way you planned.
And sometimes the most frustrating part is that you did everything right. You prepared. You practiced. You worked hard. You showed up. You made the best decision you could with the information you had.
And you still hit the tree.
That's the part nobody tells you. Sometimes faith, preparation, discipline, and hard work don't guarantee the outcome you want. They simply prepare you to handle whatever outcome comes. That's one of the hardest lessons in life to accept. Not everything is under our control. Sometimes we are the reason things go sideways. We rush. We force things. We ignore wisdom we already know. But sometimes life is simply difficult. The course is hard.
For everyone.
What Ted Lasso Understood
One of my favorite scenes from Ted Lasso comes when he tells his players they need to have the memory of a goldfish. According to Ted, a goldfish has a memory of about five seconds. Five seconds. Imagine that.
Five seconds after an embarrassing mistake. Five seconds after a bad meeting. Five seconds after a missed opportunity. Five seconds after hitting a golf ball directly into the center of a tree. Most of us don't operate that way. We carry mistakes for months.
Sometimes years.
We replay conversations while trying to fall asleep. We revisit failures that everyone else has forgotten. We drag old regrets into new opportunities and wonder why moving forward feels so difficult.
The older I get, the more I believe one of the greatest gifts we can give ourselves is grace. Not the kind of grace that avoids accountability. The kind that allows us to learn the lesson without becoming the lesson.
Learn the lesson without becoming the lesson.
You made a mistake. → You are not a mistake.
You failed. → You are not a failure.
You hit a tree. → You are not defined by the tree.
The healthiest people I know aren't the ones who never stumble. They're the ones who refuse to let yesterday's stumble steal today's opportunity. Because the next conversation is waiting. The next opportunity is waiting. The next chapter is waiting. The next shot is waiting.
Being Ready for the Next Shot
As I stood there laughing with my friends and walking toward a golf ball that had no business being where it was, I realized there was absolutely nothing I could do to change what had just happened. The shot was over. My only choice was deciding what to do next. Maybe that's the lesson this past year has been teaching me.
After surgery, recovery, unexpected detours, and plenty of moments that didn't go according to plan, I've learned that life isn't about perfection. It's about perseverance.
We're all going to hit trees.
Some of them are literal. Most of them aren't.
Sometimes the tree is a setback. Sometimes it's a disappointment. Sometimes it's a diagnosis, a closed door, a broken relationship, or a dream that didn't unfold the way we hoped. Whatever form it takes, the lesson remains the same. We can stand there staring at the tree, wondering why it happened, or we can pick up our club, learn what we can, and get ready for the next shot.
Because those moments don't define us. What defines us is whether we're willing to keep moving. Whether we're willing to trust what we've learned. Whether we're willing to believe that another opportunity is waiting just ahead. The best golfers aren't the ones who never hit bad shots. They're the ones who recover from them. And the same is true for all of us.
Whether you golf or not. Whether your setback happened yesterday or years ago. Whether you're standing in a fairway, a boardroom, a hospital room, or somewhere in between.