Golf is Life

Much like my older brother and nearly all of our childhood friends, I grew up playing all kinds of sports. It’s just what you did. Baseball, basketball, football in the yard, and especially golf and soccer in my family. When we weren’t playing sports, we were watching sports on t.v., and even though the Seattle pro sports teams were mired in mediocrity during my formative years, they provided a constant source of connection, giving us something to talk about, win or lose.

I was older the first time I heard someone wax philosophically about sports as a metaphor for life, but something in me understood. And the other day, I played a golf hole that was the perfect metaphor for my entire life.

It’s a par 5, a nice long uphill hole with a huge wide fairway, but with a bunker left and garbage out right. I hit my drive well, but pulled it a bit, and it was headed for the trap. I was miffed. And in the ensuing two minutes that it took me to walk up to my ball, I spent the time mentally kicking myself for pulling the drive, likely putting it into the trap, when there’s such a huge wide safe landing area on this hole as long as you aren’t a doofus. Which I was. Because, although I hit it well, I was pretty sure I was going to find my ball in the sand. What an idiot. Ugh. Why do I do this? Such as easy hole. And on and on.

But guess what? When I finally walked up to my ball, I noticed I wasn’t in the trap at all. In fact, I was in the short stuff, right there in the fairway. Just on the far left side. But 100% totally fine, with an unobstructed shot to the green. Oh, I thought. Ok. Here we go. A simple three wood, right up the middle. Hit it well and I’ll find the green. Hit it not so well and it’ll be a little short. Sweet.

But I did’t hit it that well. I pushed it way off right, into the rough on the right side of the fairway, and what looked to be directly behind a tree, 60 yards short of the green. Fudge! I screamed at myself, although it was only internal and it wasn’t fudge.

How the hell could I leave that out to the right that like? What a crappy swing. And right behind that tree? Ugh, you dumbass. You suck at golf. And so began the next three minute trudge to my golf ball, mentally berating myself for my inexcusable idiocy, and clear sucky-ness at this sport. Never mind that I’ve played two times all season. My high expectations are immutable.

Quick sidebar: My grandparents taught me to play golf as soon as I could swing a club, but it was years before I learned to control my anger on the course. This unfortunate dynamic had two major aspects for me as a kid: First, my own sense of perfectionism, which makes me hold myself to impossibly high standards, and two: my constant comparison to my beloved older brother who happens to be a truly exceptional golfer. In the hundreds (thousands?) of golf rounds he and I have played together, I have beaten him a sum total of one time. And what a glorious time that was! But back to my story.

As I continue my walk of shame to approach my third shot, I once again realize that, despite my dark assumptions, my ball is actually, once again, ok. I am behind that tree a bit, but I still have a look at the green, and it’s not nearly as dire as I had believed moments ago. Once again, things were just fine the whole damn time, but I, in my head, was a wreck.

And this is my life. Not that I’m always a wreck. But that during those times when I think I am indeed a wreck, it’s actually all just fine. Better than fine, even. Things are always working out for me. Even when I hit my second shot near that tree. Or miss the putt. Or didn’t land that gig I wanted. Or whatever.

By the way, I hit a crafty third shot to fifteen feet, and two-putted for par.

And walked off the green shaking my head, laughing at myself. And endeavoring to do better. Not in my golf game, but in my mental game. Which, of course, is my golf game too. But that internal talk is so much more important than my golf score. It’s everything.

I caused myself so much unnecessary suffering in the span of those 15 minutes, and all for naught. But I’m glad I can notice it, laugh at it, and learn from it. On we go.

The Myth of Hard Work

I’m sure that you, like me, were raised on some form of a family motto: My family’s version was simple, straightforward, and difficult to argue with: Work hard, save your money. This righteous path, the motto goes, will lead to success - financial and otherwise. And truth be told, my self-made grandfather loomed large as testament to this motto. And seeing as how he was my hero already, I was a quick and willing devotee, and for decades applied the family motto as well as I knew how - at least the work hard part. Saving money was another thing, but for now let’s focus on the hard work.

Our culture values exhaustion, and many among us wear our fatigue like a badge of honor. Couple this inherent tendency with my own very high energy level (think: Energizer Bunny…keep going and going…), and I was primed out “outwork” anyone around. Arrive early, stay late, study extra, whatever. If hard work was the key, that was something I could (and would) control. And then succeed!

What I know now that I didn’t know then was the importance of tuning-in: that twofold process of first quieting my mind through daily meditation, followed by a conscious lean towards pleasant-feeling thoughts. This type of daily tuning is nearly all that’s required to set my day off on the right foot, which often becomes its own type of positive momentum, leading from one new and joyful moment to the next. And when I’m in this “allowing” mode instead of my “hard work” mode, sometimes the things on my to-do list happen magically. Yesterday was a perfect example.

I woke up, meditated, and tuned in on purpose - in this case by journalizing in focused ways that helped me tune into the feeling of my prosperity. When I was done with this minutes-long exercise, I felt great. I was buzzing a bit. Then I compiled the day’s two-do list, which included “Book a Show.” But then, instead of working to book my show, I instead went about my joyful and fairly open day. I ate, I took the dog for a hike, I basked in the beauty of the wildlife, etc. And before I could set about the “work” of booking a show, I received an email from a music contact, asking if I wanted to come perform at any of these available dates. And without lifting a finger - by simply replying to an email - I booked not one but three shows over the coming months. Just like that.

My life these last few years has countless examples of this - the universe yielding to me in surprising and delightful ways exactly what it is I’d been asking for. All I had to do was tune in - get in my happy place first before the conditions themselves really solidify - and let the rest unfold.

There are countless unseen forces, coincidences and magical happenings waiting right around the corner to assist you. The only question is - are you tuned in enough to let them in? Or are you like me for so many years - working too hard to notice the perfection?

Like Jumping Out of an Airplane

For many people, the idea of skydiving lives on the anti-bucket list: things you know for certain you’re never going to do. Well, for me, it’s on the hell yes list, and I just did it for the second time recently. The first was thirty years ago in college with some buddies, and this time was with my former spouse and our now 18-year-old daughter. Whether it was the company, the perspective that comes with my now-gray hair, or something else, this time was way, way better!

We all did tandem jumps, which means that we were hooked into an experienced professional. This also means that there is very little you have to do, other than keep your arms in at first, and scream once you catch your breath.

The plane reaches jumping altitude rather quickly, which means that your once you take off, you begin circling and climbing at a breathtaking pitch. The ascent, much of which occurs with the jump door open, gives you ten minutes or so to really come to grips with what you’re about to do. Watching the world recede into a patchwork quilt of farms and neighborhoods, all laying in the shadow of the spectacular Rocky Mountains, above which you just soared.

Now it’s go time. The door is open, the plane is in position, and one by one you watch the other jumpers take their turn disappearing out the door as you and your jumping partner march steadily towards the exit. At this point, I expected more fear and resistance, but all I felt was eagerness and joy about what was occurring.

Those first few seconds are a literal blur. You’re wearing goggles, but it takes a second to get your bearings and realize that you’re actually still alive, despite doing the thing your primitive brain was certain would end in your demise. But now you can breath, and scream! And actually fly! The guide shows you how to use your hands and arms and steer yourself this way, then the other. It’s magical beyond reason. And loud! The rushing wind is as intense as the emotion.

A few seconds later and you can really start to look around, noting the landmarks and how spectacular they look from this 12 thousand foot vantage point. What a rush. And then, with the pull of the cord, and a substantial but not uncomfortable jerk, life slows down significantly, as you begin the parachuting portion of the event.

The transition from free fall to parachute is nearly as wild as from plane to jumping. It’s a drastic change, especially in the volume, and the adrenaline you just built up has a chance to course through your now shaking body. Holy shit! is the phrase I think I uttered a few dozen times. Interspersed with “Fu#k yeah!” It was that kind of a rush. And something I think everyone should experience at least once in their lifetime.

More and more I aim to embody the kind of “go for it” ethic that skydiving requires in all aspects of my life, caring less about what other people think (isn’t that always the task?). When I really do give into the flow and go for it, things always tend to work out so well, it’s a wonder I ever entertain doubtful thoughts. But one thing is true: my doubt is diminishing. I’m jumping out freaking airplanes.

P.S. My daughter and ex-wife loved the experience as well, and Avery is already talking about going again.

The Power of Regret

I took my daughter on recent a camping trip to a spectacular lake in the Colorado mountains. We got on the paddle boards, enjoyed the smoky campfire, and I caught a sizable trout on my third cast.

On the morning we were slated to head back home, I woke up early to enjoy my cup of coffee while sitting quietly at the edge of the lake. I took some slow, deep breaths, and felt myself settle in and more thoroughly take in the gorgeous view. And then, seemingly out of nowhere, I had the thought, “I wish we had done more camping as my kid was growing up.” And I immediately felt my stomach tighten, my shoulders slump, and my mood darken.

To be fair, there is “truth” in that thought. I do wish we had done more camping. But here’s another version of reality: “I’m so glad we went camping during her childhood.” Because we did. Several times. And that thought feels way better.

Both thoughts are true, but they feel remarkably different. And paying attention to the difference of how these thoughts feel has propelled the biggest change in my life these past few years. Remember - like attracts like, and everything is vibrational before is becomes manifest. Our most powerful and consistent vibrations come from our feelings, which always follow our thoughts.

“I wish I had done something differently” always feels bad.

“I’m so appreciative that so and so” always feels good.

And feeling good, right here right now, is the whole point, which leads to the next and the next and so on. I already know I want to feel great each and every day, as much as possible. And accomplishing this is far easier than I used to think. I just have to pay really close to attention to how I’m feeling, then notice the thoughts I just had that led me to feel that way. Then choose better feeling thoughts, repeatedly.

The power of regret is awesomely destructive. Nothing gums up the gears like looking backwards and wishing it were different.

All of your power is in the now.

The universe only ever asks one question - what now?

I’m so glad we camped. I’m looking forward to camping again.

I love camping.

My life is magical.

Hey Jeremy, Do You Have a Wife?

I was asked this question yesterday by a second-grader, in the middle of my discussion with her class in which I was telling them that I was retiring as their school counselor after 11 years. As you can imagine, I bring a lot of music with me to the school, so I’m used to spending time with these little ones singing songs, and having “freeze dances” intertwined with the lessons I’m teaching them related to our Social-Emotional Learning curriculum. It’s been a dream job, and it hurts to leave, but the time is also perfect, and so very right.

In the midst of me breaking the hard news to these kids I’ve known for a couple years, this splendid little one interrupts with the seeming non-sequitur, and it threw me. Jeremy, Do you have a wife? “No, I have a husband” was the true response. Perhaps the right response. But instead I said, “let’s talk about that later.” And I carried on with what I had been saying about my leaving. Interestingly, a minute or two later, she chimed in with the same question, and I used the same answer. But I went home that night pondering.

For context and as a reminder, I was married to Lisa before I was married to John, and many of the kids at the school are aware that I have a now 18-year old daughter who once walked these same halls. The implication and natural assumption, of course, is that Jeremy has a wife, and is straight. At least that’s what you assume when you’re seven years old. (Or 37, let’s be honest).

The evening’s pondering started with me wanting to show up fully and authentically as myself and answer her question straight up (pun-intended). But I’ll admit I also had a slight flash of Floridaphobia, and a vision of Evangelical parents raising hell over me discussion my sexuality with their second-grader. But that flash-phobia was sudden, and this is Boulder.

So, after conferring with her teacher this morning to make sure that she too thought I was on the right track, I re-connected with that sweet little girl, the one with the perfectly innocent question. I knelt down next to her and said, “I remembered your question yesterday, and I know I didn’t answer it directly. So I would like to do that now. The truth is that I don’t have a wife, I actually have a husband.”

“Oh.” she said. “What’s his name?”
”John,” I said.

“Oh.” she said, and smiled. “Jeremy and John. J and J.” Her smile growing.

Then she turned and walked away, still smiling.

I’m really going to miss this job.