The Silent Music of Golf

My favorite way to play golf is to be alone. Just me, my clubs on my back, and the hush of a links course in Ireland. I’ve been lucky enough to play all over the world, but that’s my heaven—a place where wind and grass write poetry, and no one speaks above a whisper.

I’ve never been a competitive person. I love the game, but not the contest. I’m not trying to beat anyone else. I’m measuring myself. Against the elements. Against time. Against the deeper part of me.

Golf is my meditation. Every step has purpose. My body and spirit realign as I walk. Drinking, betting, banter—those things don’t call to me. They’re fun, sure. The golf course can be social. There’s laughter and camaraderie, and even a shared kind of suffering. I’ve had rounds with friends that were full of joy. But to me, that’s not really playing. That’s partying.

When I walk, I see the course the way it was meant to be seen. It reveals itself slowly—the big shapes, the shifting tides of grass, the curve of a fairway like a question mark. There’s intention behind every bunker, every slope. Challenges drawn up like blueprints. And I want to solve them. I want to know the why of a course. The answer is always out there, somewhere between the wind and the ground.

The arc of a well-struck ball—it’s magic. The swing moves in one shape, the ball flies in another, and somehow they’re in perfect harmony. If the shot goes wrong, the ball tells me what happened. I go back to the swing, feel it again, learn. But when the shot is pure, the feeling vanishes. It’s too perfect to hold onto. Like a dream. That’s why we play—for those moments when intention and action align, and the ball sails into the sky as if it already knows the way.

I don’t write down my score. I carry it in my head. Win the hole or lose it. That’s enough. I talk to myself—You’re ahead. You’re behind. What will you do now? The opponent is always the same: the game. And the game always wins.

But that’s the beauty of it, isn’t it?

It’s not about winning.

It’s about how you lose.

And maybe that’s the best lesson life can teach.