Finding Fall Fortune

I’ll be the first to admit when I am wrong. Well, maybe not the first. But EVENTUALLY, I will admit it. Sometimes.

Anyways, I wrote this piece a few months after the move about not missing much and just getting on with what was now in front of me. While I tend to still generally agree with the article’s intent, I must say that it was a pretty weak article, and I would like to amend my thoughts this week.

I’ve learned it’s okay to miss things. I miss going to Panthers games (although not today’s, damn). I missed eating brunswick stew at the annual Unionville BBQ earlier this month. And OH MY did I miss running this year’s NYC Marathon. But most importantly, I miss a ton of people. This journey can be isolating at times.

Sitting on the porch a few weeks ago, my mobility limited by plantar fasciitis in my right foot, I noticed something profound. The cool air had blown in, so it FELT like fall. But looking at the bayou, river, gulf, pines, palms, and oaks, it still LOOKED exactly like June.

This posed a massive problem. Autumn is my favorite. Always has been. Good chance it always will be. I like the chill, the food, and the clothes. But most of all, I like the leaves. I love the leaves. And in southern Mississippi, everything, for the most part, stays green.


I had to get the hell out of there. To fully experience fall, I had to get the hell out of there.

Other than two trips to New Orleans, I had basically lived in a fifteen minute bubble for the past six weeks. It was genius in uptown Charlotte. Here, it was like wearing an 800 square feet straight jacket.

For me, the world is best experienced on the move with endless space, limits, and opportunities on the horizon. It’s certainly why I have fallen in love with the West. So to re-engage my deep imagination, it was time for fall trip 2019. And this year, we knocked it out of the park.

By now, you should know we were not going any place normal. It’s exciting to reinvent the wheel until the wheel doesn’t need reinventing anymore (which, after this place, may be now).

Selfishly, I wanted the following: colorful leaves, cold weather, exposed wood, lots of space, and views. I wanted to feel like I was on a fall vacation. End of story. Everyone seemed to agree.

I’d never heard of Bryant, Alabama. Have you? Anyways, it is essentially where Georgia, Tennessee, and Alabama meet, and in early November, it is perfect. We booked it blindly. House looked cool. Area looked cool. Ticked all of the boxes for a good adventure.

The adults visited. The kids played. Everyone let their hair down a little. Normal vacation stuff.

But what stood out? What made it different? What made it abk-worthy? I’ll let the pictures do most of the talking this week. The views. J’s Hole in the Wall. The house. The village’s pool. The cute downtown of neighboring South Pittsburg, TN. Stevarino’s. The Tennessee whiskey. The golf (stay tuned next week). Rosa’s Place. The Purple Daisy. The railway. The fire pit.

After almost three years of extensive traveling, I don’t get surprised much anymore, but this place blew me away. BRYANT, ALABAMA. SOUTH PITTSBURG, TENNESSEE. What a fun little nook to not have a care in the world and yet be fully alive.

The key to moving to Mississippi or vacationing in Bryant, Alabama is the same as with any bold decision we as human beings ever make. We must be able to live with the consequences, whatever they may be.

What if it sucks, you say? Good point. But what if it doesn’t?

Have a great week.-Benj

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A Quiet Wednesday in New Orleans

It wasn’t quite in the same golfer category as playing with longtime PGA tour player Charles Howell III. Or maybe it was. Maybe that experience with Charles Howell III caught me off guard because it was a complete surprise when I walked to the first tee.

It wasn’t quite in the same celebrity category as playing with basketball Hall of Famer Alonzo Mourning. Or maybe it was. Maybe that experience with Alonzo Mourning was amplified because I played with him the exact day Lebron James announced he was leaving South Beach to head back to Cleveland, and I watched Zo anxiously negotiate on his bat phone all day while we played. (Alonzo Mourning was (and is) the Vice President of Player Programs and Development for the Miami Heat.)

It wasn’t quite in the same course category as Pinehurst # 2, East Lake, Torrey Pines, Hazeltine, Quail Hollow, Sand Hollow, and so on, all of which I have had the privilege of playing. Or maybe it was.

So what was it? Why was the prospect of playing the local municipal, $28 greens fees Golf Club at Audubon Park in New Orleans with golf traveller and bestselling author Tom Coyne quietly on par with all of these?

I should not have even reached out to him. It was risky. Irresponsible. Idiotic. But I did. Because that is what I now do.

For those of you not familiar with Tom Coyne, he has written four books and is currently working on his fifth, A Course Called America. He has been traveling the United States for the past however many months playing golf in almost all 50 states as “research” for this book. Private. Public. With friends. With strangers. Famous. Infamous. Not even on the map.

This past Wednesday brought him to New Orleans, and he dropped a note on his Instagram a few days prior. Tee time alert. 3 spots open. Without thinking, I messaged him. I live close by and would love to join.

24 hours went by with me checking my phone like a middle school girl. Come on Tom. I know you have a lot of followers, but there can’t be that many that live in the area and are available at 9am on a Wednesday. Simple math.

I woke up Monday morning with a simple response from Tom. Join me. Boom! How exciting!

When I received Tom’s message to join him just two days before the actual day of play, I was literally wearing this boot. Surprise, surprise, I had been nursing plantar fasciitis in my right foot for about ten days. It’s apparently what happens when you mix arthritis, 160 days of golf, and running marathons blindly. Risky? Irresponsible? Idiotic?

This shouldn’t be a problem, should it? Nah. Wait, Tom DOES like to walk when he plays. Dammit. This is going to hurt. Oh well. Once in a lifetime.

As the answer to this painful dilemma, I pulled out my Air Jordan 11 golf shoes. They are super comfortable, quite supportive, and if nothing else, a conversation starter.

I love a good conversation, but I don’t like idle chit chat. My dad and I might not speak at all during a round once the golf actually begins. Gentleman’s agreement. I love it.

Also, after a decade plus of building relationships with a certain type of person for work, I know that a certain type of person might grow weary of the same ole idle chit chat. I know I would.

So I made the decision during the round to just enjoy myself, get to leisurely know the fivesome, and tend to the business of golf. When I did get the opportunity five or six times to pick Tom’s brain, I wanted it to be interesting. We discussed my current journey, which I think got his attention. We talked about my parents being college professors since that is his day job at Saint Joseph’s in Philadelphia. I asked him when he started writing. I asked him about the validity of swing coaches. He unequivocally told me to play Sweetens Cove on my trip to Chattanooga this weekend. (Done. Twice. Tittilating.).

And last but certainly not least, and he never actually said it, but I could see it in his eyes. Why the f**k can’t this guy make a putt? Actually, he did say something after my six footer on 18 narrowly grazed the cup, similar to the result of the previous 17 holes. No reason to start now. He smirked. I smirked. Gentleman’s agreement. I’ll never forget that.

(As a Panthers fan in Saints territory, I think the locals put a voodoo curse on my putter Wednesday.)

The best piece of advice I have received over the past two and a half years, two and a half years filled with dramatic change, growth, and evolution in my life, is this. Find your true community. Go build relationships with people who are in the world in which you want to live. Don’t make it transactional. Actually try.

I’m not going to be a PGA Tour player. I’m not going to be an NBA Hall of Famer. I’m not going to be a Top 100 course. But I do want to get really good at golf (in progress, 5.7 handicap), travel the US and world (in progress, 43 states/7 countries), and write about it all (in progress, 130 articles). Tom has done it, is doing it, and is damn good at it. In the grand scheme of things, I’m just getting started.

So that’s why I messaged him. That’s why, in spite of a very tender right foot and ankle, I messaged him. Very simply, he lives in a world in which someday, with a lot of hard work and a little bit of luck, maybe I can reside. And the prospect of that makes me very excited.

Have a great week.-Benj

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Fish Out of Water

We worry about our children. That’s what we do. Some of us more than others.

Over the past three years, I’ve worked on worrying. I used to worry about everything. Stupid stuff. After the work, I worry about very little. “Worrying is a wasted emotion,” someone told me. They were correct.

But we still worry about our children. Because that is just what we do.

When Mississippi came calling, I remember thinking to myself. I am an adult. I will figure it out. Christy is an adult. She will figure it out. But we better not balls this up for Banks.

In 2019, he attended three schools. That worried me. When he went to his four year old doctor checkup in Mississippi, the doctor said that we should introduce him to snake (and alligator) safety as well as guns. GUNS! At four! That worried me. (Whether you or I like it or not, facts are facts, and this area is laden with poisonous snakes, gators, and guns.)

This area does have neighborhoods, but as with any coastal community, it also has its fair share of remote beach houses, cabins, and RV parks. Trick or treating happens in some places, and in others, no chance. The cabin that is currently home is in a “no chance” zone, so I wondered if Banks would get to trick or treat at all on Halloween. That worried me.

I saw that the Denver Nuggets were in town playing the New Orleans Pelicans on Halloween night and thought, Wouldn’t that be fun? Halloween in New Orleans!

Banks listened intently but was adamant. Let’s trick or treat and then go to the fall festival at his school. (We went to Warriors at Pelicans Monday instead.)

Great. No problem. Sounds perfect. Where in the hell are we going to trick or treat?

Turns out, whether you and I see eye to eye or whether you and southern Mississippi residents see eye to eye is irrelevant when it comes to worrying about and caring for our children. The good folks in our immediate area wanted to give Banks a trick or treat extravaganza, and that they did. They gave out candy (and money) and opened their homes (and boats) to just him. Just him. A one kid trick or treating parade. I was floored, and he loved it. Made him feel special.

Worrying is a wasted emotion, but we worry about our children. I don’t know why. They are more malleable and resilient than us adults. Banks aka The Hulk is living large. He has friends everywhere he goes. Doesn’t meet a stranger. Laughs. Giggles. Loves life.

He’s just in a new place. His third school. His new school, as he calls it. He doesn’t care.

So simple. If only it were that easy…

Have a great week.-Benj

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It’s Like Night and Day

Last Monday, I finally got what I wanted. I finally took the next step on the journey.

I was simply in the right place at the right time. Nothing more. Nothing less. (Though if you continue to put yourself in the right place, the right time WILL come.) Oh, and seven months of hard work. Let’s not forget that.

An older gentleman drove up to me as I was standing close to the first tee at my home course and asked me if I wanted to play. I asked him who he was playing with and he mentioned himself, another gentleman, and one of the pros who I knew well, but I had never played with. Without hesitation, I said yes. I had no idea the skill level of the other two, but I knew the pro routinely shot in the 60s. I wanted to test my game and my nerves. Would I shat the bed in such esteemed golf company?

After the three of them hit bombs right down the middle off the first tee, I stepped up. “You’ve dedicated the last seven months of your life to this son. Man up.” I took out my 3 wood and blasted it right down the middle. Game on.

After a couple of easy pars and loose bogeys, I found my groove. Narrow eagle miss. Birdie. Par. Par. Par. Par. We were rolling, but a massive storm was also rolling in. Another couple of loose bogeys and routine pars brought us to the par 5 16th hole, just as the skies were getting DARK. I hit a great drive, a terrible second shot, and then a wonderful wedge through the trees to about eight feet. Steadying my hands, I rolled in the birdie. We stepped to the tee box on the par 3 17th as the skies unloaded. We all hit our tee shots near the middle of the green, and then we floored it back to the clubhouse as the winds gusted upwards of 50 mph, turning over trees, water coolers, and umbrellas.

Once I arrived in the cart barn, I dried myself off and pulled out my scorecard to review the day. With a birdie putt looming on 17, I was sitting at +3. And to think, I shot a 101 here six months ago.

Depending on who you ask, what I do now every day is either ridiculously boring or insanely fascinating. I study math, angles, wind, swings, ball flights, strategy, psychology, grass type, and so on. (Yes, I am a big geek. I took three levels of calculus in college.) I love it, but it’s all business. But you know what, in April, I shot a +29 right here. Monday, with one and a half holes to play and looking at an uphill birdie putt, I shot a +3. The pro took notice and was impressed. “Let’s work together. Seriously. You could really do something with this.” Right place. Right time. Lots of hard work. Boom.


The complete opposite of my unpaid day job is my unpaid night job. Coaching youth soccer, which I do now three days a week, came about very quickly once the powers that be learned about my background. “He knows soccer? Get him in.”

Banks, my four year old son, loves soccer. It’s a privilege to be able to coach the team he is on, but I didn’t just immediately say yes. You see, I am not naturally a little kid kind of guy. Shocking, I know. After saying something 482 times to no avail, sometimes my patience runs a tad thin. I’m much more of an adult guy, but as much as I preach getting out of that comfort zone, this was a wonderful opportunity for me to do just that.

I have seven four and five year olds: four boys and three girls. We play for 45 minutes on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays. For 43 of those minutes, the kids hang from the goals, tackle each other, ask about snacks, hug their parents, untie their shoes, play in the grass, worry about their muddy shirt, and have a fashion show (which I’m not mad at). However, that two minutes of soccer when the kids actually play and score and celebrate is so worth it.

I really only ask one thing of my kids: have fun! Which in turn, I have to remind myself. “The only thing that matters is that these kids have fun.” If they get better, great. If their self-esteem goes up, great. If we win, great. They are four and five. Youth sports have gone absolutely mad, and I’m not going to be a part of that nonsense. So we have fun, and that’s that. It’s good for me, and I (mostly) enjoy it, and I hope they all do too.

On the ten minute drive to the golf course every day, I turn on some kind of music that dials me in. When I’m on the course, I may throw a golf podcast on while I play. It’s all business, and I love it.

On the ten minute drive to soccer practice, Banks likes for us to turn on Lizzo so he can rap about the Minnesota Vikings. I’m completely dialed out. It ain’t about me. It’s all about the kids. It’s all about fun. I’m just there so it is not COMPLETE chaos.

It’s like night and day, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Have a great week.- Benj

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When It’s Time, It’s Time

Last week, I parted ways with my 7 iron. To be more specific, I had an excellent round going and then proceeded to hit four different trees in a row on the same hole. So I simply hit the fifth tree I could find with my 7 iron, and voila, it snapped.

It was probably time for some new clubs. I AM on this very serious journey, and as I am now a 5 handicap, I probably shouldn’t be playing with five year old clubs. Yeah, that sounds good. Let’s not blame it on frustration. Let’s say it was genius. Just needed a reason to get some new clubs 😉.

Never in a million fu…

Wait, let’s clean this up. Never in a million years did I ever think I would wake up houseless and jobless in Mississippi. It sounds like the beginning or the end of a very scary joke, but it has been anything but. For me, it has been wildly fruitful and exactly what I needed at the ripe old age of 37. A new beginning. A radical new beginning. A radical, humbling, exciting, tittilating, challenging, new beginning.

No matter how hard we resist, people need new beginnings. Sometimes it’s a new haircut. Sometimes it’s a nose ring. Sometimes it’s transferring colleges, getting a new job, or finding a new partner. We are often taught to persist at all costs, but sometimes, a new beginning is indeed the right choice.

I have found that persistence is THE answer when trying to achieve something. Every third week, I want to quit golf. I physically hurt and am mentally fatigued. But then I battle through, cross a barrier, and enter the next level which is THAT much closer to what I am trying to accomplish. Persistence IS the answer and the key differentiator.

On the other hand, there is trying to fit a square peg in a round hole i.e. persistence because it’s “honorable” but with no real end game in site. I always share my collegiate soccer example, where I tried and tried and tried to vibe with my first college’s (new) coach, but it just wasn’t going to happen. So I quit. I was devastated. Embarrassed even. But it opened up the most fulfilling chapter for me at another college. An incredible beginning. New. Fresh.

I’ve never condoned just quitting anything, but the longer I am alive the more I question the mindless “persistence” of playing the Square Peg Round Hole game. The old insanity definition pops into my head, and I just think, “Why doesn’t that person go do something else?”

Habit. Comfort. Stubbornness. Fear. It must be fear. More specifically, “What will people think?” Been there. Done that.

Listen, I know new beginnings seem scary, and though I can’t do it for you, in a roundabout way, I kinda have.

I’ve become so afraid of NOT pursuing the new beginning that interests me that I have become a bit of a new beginning specialist. Sounds unstable and exhausting, but it’s the complete opposite. I just started coaching my boy’s four and five year old soccer team, and I am having a blast (make sure you read next week)! Though I’d heard about the riff raff with youth sports and parents, I knew I would have regretted it had I not.

Speaking of, I have become fascinated by the numerous studies and interviews with older people, many on their death beds, that ask them to share their regrets in life. Almost always it is the things they did NOT do and the new beginnings they never started that weigh heavily on them.

Regretting something you HAVE done? Drop it. Can’t change it. Learn from it. Regretting things you HAVEN’T done? Take action. Inaction is the disease. Action is the simple (but not easy) cure.

Having to see folks at an upcoming holiday party and use the words houseless, jobless, and living in Mississippi would petrify most people I know. However, I’m willing to accept the jokes, the ridicule, the potential failure, and all of the consequences. Because the trade off that is freedom to decide is too good. Having the ability to pursue this incredible journey (that I never had the courage to pursue before) and the freedom to take action on my terms is worth it. Economics 101. Tit for tat.

Jokes are temporary. Ridicule is temporary. Failure is temporary. Never leaping? …

Maybe I’ll live in Mississippi for the rest of my life. Or maybe White Sulphur Springs, West Virginia will come calling. Or Los Angeles, California. Or the wilderness of Montana. Or Bologna, Italy. Or some place new.

Maybe I’ll become a golfer. Or a teacher. Or a world traveler. Or a proper writer. Or a coach. Or all of these.

Maybe I’ll get another new haircut (probably). Maybe I’ll get a nose ring (who knows 🤷🏽‍♂️).

But only two things are for sure.

1. When it’s time, it’s time.

2. I need a new 7 iron. (I got one👇🏾.)

Have a great week.-Benj

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An abk Conversation

“John” (not an abk fan): This guy, Benj, has lost his mind.

“Bob” (friend of abk): I think he’s actually on to something, to be honest.

I mean, does he just do whatever he wants?

Not exactly, but what is wrong with that mindset? Shouldn’t everyone strive for that?

Never really thought about it. I was told: college, graduate school, good job, 40 years of work, 401k, retirement, travel a little, be bored a little, die. Any deviation from that is weird.

Anyone ever teach you about passion and happiness?

Don’t be ridiculous. Happiness is a big 401k and a big house. Right? Right? Right? Happiness is not rocking the boat. Right? Right? Right?

Happiness is happiness, pal.

What is this guy, Benj’s, superpower?

Interestingly, he has a TON of shortcomings that he finally learned to own. He’s kind of incompetent with a lot of normal things. Guaranteed he can’t change a tire. Guaranteed he struggles to cook dinner. Guaranteed you are a better husband and a nicer person than he is. The Mississippi folks make fun of his incompetence any chance they get.

But he does have two things. First, ACTION. He doesn’t play around with decades of thinking and pondering. He just processes information and, right or wrong, BAM! Second, MINDSET. He thinks completely differently from you. What’s scary to you is normal to him now, and what’s normal to you is scary to him. In fact, normal is scary to him.

He’s playing golf every single day at 37. Who does he think he is?

He’s trying to get really freaking good, and listen, I wouldn’t bet against him. He honestly believes he can do it. He’s not out there pounding beers all day.

He’s got some personal physical goals that he can’t wait on. I’m sure you’ve heard he’s got arthritis, which influences almost every decision he makes. For him, it might be impossible to do vigorous physical activity and/or travel the world comfortably at traditional retirement age. So, he’s doing it now.

That actually makes sense.

I’ve known him for a while. He’s a lot of things, but he’s not a dope.

He does have some lofty goals though. Scratch golfer? All 50 states? As many countries as possible?

He honestly believes, “Go big or go home.” One life.

Speaking of travel, he has traveled a couple hundred thousand miles over the past couple years. Does he ever see his family?

He’s a massive believer in quality time over just sitting there, everyone on their iPads. He actually has more quality time with ALL of his family (from NC to MS and everywhere in between) now more than ever. He also gains “family” on most every single trip. That’s a MAJOR goal of his.

Does he ever compromise?

Would you be willing to move to Mississippi?

Good point. What do you think he’s going to do next?

He’s got a list, and he’s leaning hard towards one thing specifically. It’ll take you off guard. But he swore me to secrecy.

Nothing takes me off guard with him any more.

He believes every day should be interesting and meaningful.

Sometimes I think he’s showing off.

No, he’s just showing. He believes too many people are talking and telling instead of doing and showing. He has lots of respect for doers.

Back to that ACTION thing, right?


You seem to know him well. What’s he trying to accomplish here?

He doesn’t have many soft spots, but he has a real soft spot for people and their self-esteem, happiness, and fulfillment. There have been stages in his life where he was unhappy, unfulfilled, in pain, and even lonely. He said “no more” to those feelings, and he sprung to action. He wants to show people that anything is possible, even if you have to rewire yourself like he did at age 35.

Anything is possible?

Yeah, you know he ran the NYC Marathon last year with very limited training?

Yeah, well, that was stupid.

Finally, we agree on something. That WAS incredibly stupid, and I guarantee you he now would agree. Occasionally, his zest for life gets the best of him. He knows that, but that’s just who he is.

There is an old saying in the banking world, “If you’ve never had a loan go bad, you haven’t done enough loans.” That’s how he feels about living.

Have a great week.-“Bob” 😉

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abk Golf Update: Turning Corners

“Patience.”- abk Golf

A couple of weeks ago, I was officially exhausted. My left rhomboid muscle was strained, my game had plateaued, and I was tired and hot. Not to mention I had been in a car for 14 straight days and 6,000 miles. So on this particular day back in Mississippi, frustrated and fatigued, I just walked off the course, went home, and went to bed. It was 2pm.

My home course, Shell Landing Golf Club in Gautier, Mississippi, provides all sorts of challenges. It’s blazing hot, it’s quite long and narrow, and it always has some kind of sea breeze blowing. You may think this breeze sounds wonderful, but it annoys the hell out of me and my golf ball.

As I have gotten to know the course over the last six months, it hit me one day that this was the most wonderful daily course to practice on due to these challenges. And while the heat, the narrowness, and the constant wind may ruffle my feathers regularly, when it is time to play elsewhere, I may have a slight (or considerable) edge.

In last week’s piece, I wrote about GolfWeek 2019 in Alabama and all of its fun and frivolity. What I purposefully did not discuss were my results, but I am going to now.

As I mentioned in that piece, we played four delicious courses between Birmingham and Auburn. First was Vestavia, sitting atop a mountain, where I shot 80. Second was Shoal Creek, a major championship venue, where I shot 80 again. Third was Farm Links, a wide open public beast, where I shot 77. Last was Moore’s Mill Club, a long and tight layout, where I shot 78 (including a back nine 1-under 35). These were the four best consecutive rounds of golf of my life, and I had never seen the courses.

The work is paying off.

These four rounds were massive for my confidence. A year ago, the 80 at Vestavia after driving for six hours would have been a 95. A year ago, the 80 at major venue Shoal Creek would have been a 105. A year ago, the 77 at Farm Links would have been an 85. And honestly, the 78 at MMC may have gone completely sideways as tight as it was. Also, minus the first round at Vestavia, the last three could have easily been sub-75 without a couple of self-inflicted wounds.

I feel like I am one small step away from consistently shooting in the 70s on challenging tracks, which is my next goal. My right foot still hurts and my left shoulder stays sore, but otherwise I feel good. Mentally, I continue to remove the noise. I’ve played through gunshots, train whistles, and sirens, though I have not yet conquered the mariachi band (¡Ben and Chad! ¡Olé!). Just months ago, first tee anxiety was still very real. Now? Not so much.

My handicap is now officially 6.1 and trending at 5.8, down from 14 five and a half months ago. In that span, I have played or practiced 114 days totaling over 400 hours. I’m pleased with the progress, but I still have a long way to go. If six months ago the odds of getting to scratch was the same as getting struck by lightning TWICE, I’d say it’s now down to only ONCE. I’m getting close to being a bona fide amateur golfer, not just an athlete who is decent at golf. For me, that is a massive difference.

As peachy as all of that is, a 6.1 handicap doesn’t allow for many mistakes each round. If I shoot above 80 now, I am not pleased. (I can’t believe I am writing that.) That’s new to me. Minimal mistakes. No slipping. At a minimum, maintain. Work. Grind. Get better. Daily.

I’ve started to receive some notes, “What is your end goal with this golf thing?” My answer right now? “Depends on how good I get.” I’ve got some ideas. I’m all in for this dream. I gave up my paycheck six months ago. I pay a zillion dollars a month for health insurance so I don’t have to pay TWO zillion dollars for my arthritis injections. I live in a cabin in Mississippi the size of most bedrooms so I can play golf every day.

In October, I have no travel planned (although always subject to change). In Mississippi, there is no winter. I’ve played at Thanksgiving and Christmas down here before, no problem. I have daily check-ins with myself and biweekly “Come to Jesus Meetings”. I haven’t enlisted any professional help yet, nor do I want to, but I’m sure it is inevitable. All that to say, give me another 114 days and 400+ hours. I’m dialed in.

My buddy Ben called me a few months ago and asked me if all of this grinding was “fun”. By my definition of the word, yes, absolutely.

For the most part, I have given up on the traditional definition of having fun and chasing “success”. Instead, my definition of fun is maximizing potential, pushing limits, and pursuing excellence (either doing it myself, encouraging others, or watching others). So every day, I work a little harder to solve this mesmerizing, frustrating puzzle that, of course, I know can never be solved. And that, to me, is fun.

Have a great week.-Benj

Follow along on Instagram @anythingbutkhakis and @abkgolf.

If you enjoy these and would like to get the weekly piece via email, please follow on the website .