“It’s the most wonderful time of the year…”- popular Christmas song

If you’ve followed along for any period of time now, you know that I find many traditions to be tired. Played out. Not relevant anymore. When someone says to me because it has always been done that way, it takes everything in my being not to scream.

However, exceptions exist everywhere, and college football season and all of its magical pageantry, beautiful autumn scenery, and yes, even its long-standing traditions, get my heart racing.

—

Along my travels, I’ve been on a Super Duper Top Secret Mission that, honestly, I didn’t even mean to be on: visit all of the SEC college campuses and stadiums and take in each one’s unique experience and culture. To date, I’ve done 12 of the 14 schools. Some were as a teenager. Some were very recent. Some were brief. Some lasted a few days. All of them offered something.

The two towns I have yet to visit are College Station, TX and Fayetteville, AR. I’ve been near both of them along my travels, but for whatever reason I did not take the plunge.

My trips to Athens, GA, Gainesville, FL, and Columbia, SC were essentially non-events as I recall. I remember the hedges in Athens, the blonde hair in Gainesville, and that Columbia is the hottest place on Planet Earth.

The remaining nine, however, all have a place in the scrapbook, memories emblazoned in my brain for a lifetime.

—

I took a brief tour recently in Tuscaloosa, AL, but with school not yet in session, I had to rely on the history oozing out of the campus to paint the picture for me.

It was a fun time to be in Starkville, MS two months ago, with Mississippi State’s baseball team winning the College World Series. The town was buzzing, though half of its residents were in Omaha with the team. I highly recommend the gulf shrimp tacos from Two Brothers Smoked Meats and the grilled cheese and baked beans from The Little Dooey. If you golf, 25 minutes away are Mossy Oak and Old Waverly, a sublime pairing basically right across the street from each other.

I bebopped around Knoxville, TN a couple of years ago, a town completely covered in orange. As the sun set, I found a spot perched high above the Tennessee River and Neyland Stadium and snapped a couple of pics, imagining the throngs tailgating in their boats on game day.

I drank my first frosty barrel-aged bourbon beer (delicious) in Lexington, KY a few years ago, sharing some laughs with my friend Gazza, who was randomly in town, at a local hotel bar adjacent to Rupp Arena.

I sat through a vicious storm in Columbia, MO, my first real experience with a Midwestern pop-up tornado. Real talk, I pulled over at a gas station, uncertain of what to do and scared to freaking death.

I ate some incredible red beans and rice in Baton Rouge while visiting the campus. I had no idea a live, full-grown tiger prowled outside of the stadium, so that was interesting. But the most intriguing thing to me about Baton Rouge is how you can look inside Tiger Stadium from the bridge high above the Mississippi River as you leave or enter town. Every time I cross it, I peer in, fascinated.

I loved the hot chicken at Hattie B’s in Nashville, TN, which is hilarious because I was there to run a July 4th 10k. I made a side trip to the super cool store Imogene + Willie, a place that provides excellent clothing, but even better life quotes.

My day in Auburn was every man’s fantasy. Golf at 7am. Birdiefest with your buddies. Shower. Change. Tailgate. Eat. Drink. SEC football clash. War Eagle.

And last but certainly not least, The Grove in Oxford, the swankiest, most dressed up tailgate experience in America. I’ve done it twice, I believe, preceded both times by steaks at nearby Como Steakhouse the night before. I’m not sure anyone actually cares about the game, but the fashion, the pomp, the circumstance…

—

Since we are sharing secrets today, I’ll tell you one more: even though I live in SEC country now, I’m indifferent towards any specific team down here. I’ve had fun everywhere. I’m a Penn State football fan, and I love watching the Big Ten. The northern cities and the fall leaves make me feel in love.

Want to know something even crazier? When I get home from the golf course on Saturday (or Thursday) night, I love watching the Mountain West and the PAC 10. I could give two shits about the actual games, but when the camera pans out on the Colorado State at Utah game, I look out at nature and remember my abk journey, my being right there.

And I smile and think to myself, ‘Tis the season.

—

Have a great week.-Benj

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“I suppose the best brand is just being yourself.”-Higgins, from Ted Lasso

Although I am headed to New Orleans tomorrow, for the past few months and for the foreseeable near future, my world has been and will be a tiny little, beautiful, maybe five mile triangle in coastal Mississippi. Gulf of Mexico to Golf Course, rinse and repeat. It’s a little confining if you compare it to the massive exploits of my last four plus years, but I’ve also learned a few tricks along the journey.

First off, nature is not confining, and that’s where I operate most of the time. Nature is limitless.

More importantly, prioritizing self-expression: expressing myself all of the time, how I want, without pretending, is the ultimate freedom. I’ve learned to do that in a lot of ways (writing being one), but 1A is still through individual fashion and style.

—

Every morning, I ruffle through a handful of exotic belts, handmade bracelets, limited edition hats, and who knows what to start my relationship with the day. I don’t drink coffee, so I prefer to design something beautiful instead.

It used to be suit, shoes, shirt, and tie, but now it’s belt, hat, shirt, and bracelets. Same premise. Same pizzazz. Same quality. Just different.

I loved my navy suits, my cognac shoes, my buttery soft shirts, my Hermès ties. It was my way of speaking to the world every day. I now love my snakeskin belts, my camo rope hats, my transfusion shirts, and my arsenal of bead bracelets. It is still my way of speaking to the world every day.

Most every piece I have or had tells some kind of story. If I wore a certain double breasted pinstripe suit in the past, it must have been Closing Day, and that’s a different kind of mindset type of day. If I wear a certain pair of white pants now, it must be White Pants Day (tomorrow), and that’s a different kind of mindset type of day.

Mixing and matching it all, for me, is just like singing, painting, or dancing for someone else. It’s art. It’s how I talk to the world. It’s taking the rules and recommendations that someone else arbitrarily invented and blowing them up. Brown shoes with a red and white belt? Sounds perfect. As an article in Esquire recently said, What if, instead of nodding to the past, you want to charge headlong into a future of your own design?

—

As abk has developed and I have become more adept at articulating my experiences, it has become clear to me that the brand has never been about luxury items or expensive things. I don’t need to be the first to get something or have the latest iPhone. Don’t get me wrong, I have some cool things, but it’s usually not about the thing. It’s about using that thing to talk with the world. My new house tells a story. My new belt tells a story. My new beads tell a story. My tattoos tell a lot of stories.

abk, in its early years, was my attempt to discover 100% me. Now, it’s about me being 100% me 100% of the time. It’s the ultimate freedom: saying everything I want to say without uttering a single word.

—

Have a great week.-Benj

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“We have to continually be jumping off cliffs and developing our wings on the way down.”-Kurt Vonnegut

It’s been nearly two months since I played in my first real golf tournament, the Mississippi State Amateur. I started big, because that’s what I do.

If you don’t follow along regularly, let me catch you up.

—

Almost two and a half years ago, I made a major life change, to put it mildly. One aspect of that change was that I wanted to get really good at golf, to put it simply. At the time, I was a roughly 14 handicap with an average score of 93, give or take. I am athletic as hell, I had fallen in love with the game late, but I had a lot of fundamental flaws. Fast forward to almost two months ago, and I had gotten pretty damn decent, hovering somewhere in the low single digit handicaps with an average score of 76/77.

But I had zero experience playing in real tournament golf, which is a totally different beast, I learned. There’s golf that means nothing, and then there’s golf that means everything. Forget skill, practice, and determination. It is hard to anticipate how you are going to feel when you have never done something before, and I had no idea what to do when I got an incredible jolt of adrenaline on the first tee, day one. Hell, I had no idea what to do when my arms went limp on the first tee, day two.

After a rough scoring tournament full of welcome to moments, most people had kind words to say to me, but one person took a jab. A basically you’re not as good as you think you are kind of thing. I just smiled, said it was a great learning experience, and got back to it. Like immediately. There was lots of work to be done.

—

After a wild 3 under par 69 on Saturday night, I have now shot every score between 67 and 101 (except for 68) along my two year plus golf journey. How’s that for steady progress?

After that wake up call two months ago, I have been doing my best work and playing my best golf ever. Just for statistical purposes, I’m carrying a 0.6 handicap, and my scoring average of my last twenty rounds is 74.5, lowest ever. I’ve still got lots of work to do on my driver, but everything else is cooking. The mental game feels more focused, the confidence is higher, AND I’ve got a real tournament, with all of its wild emotions, under my belt.

—

I’m almost halfway through a five year process full of grinding, building, and investing. Interestingly, I’m learning that this five year process is just the beginning, just the foundation. How dare I be so impatient.

I have to experience what things feel like to take next steps. Wasn’t prepared here. Need to do better there. Pretty good here. Wasn’t comfortable there.

—

The hard-ass David Goggins hit me with a great quote this week: Life requires an abundant amount of action. Not talk. Not excuses. Action. Damn straight. The peanut gallery’s words are essentially useless. Get in the game. Play your first tournament. If you shit the bed, learn from it. Grind. Then line up a full slate of tournaments, and go do it again.

And remember, two and a half years. This is just the beginning.

—

Have a great week.-Benj

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Last week, we talked food. Damn good food. In the same piece, I mentioned that this week we would talk about SEC schools, football, etc. For two reasons, I am going to postpone that piece a week or two. First, we are not quite to college football season yet, but almost. Second, last week was a milestone week for me at the golf course.

—

Golf is ridiculously similar to life.

At the core of abk is this: I have one life. It’s my life. I must find what I love, how I want to live, and what works for me. I must express myself as such and freely. I must own my life story.

At the core of abk Golf is this: It’s my golf game. I must know my strengths and limitations. I must decide what I want to give to the game and, in turn, what I want to get out of it. I must own my golf game.

—

I had to put myself in check a few times over the past few years. Benj, you are not here to tell anyone how to live their life or tell them what their goals are. You are here to listen, observe, encourage, and assist as you can. They will give you clues. They will talk it out. Just pay attention. Limit your advice. Tell a story.

That final thought has been a major transformation in my writing. No need to tell anyone what to do. Just tell stories about your journey.

—

After 2 and 1/3 years of grinding through my own golf game and learning a zillion things, I gave my first formal golf lesson last Friday. And then another on Saturday. And another Monday. And two more on the books for tonight. A 20 year old. A 40 year old. A 16 year old. Two little kids. I figured we would eventually get here.

I used to be quiet with my life stories, preferring to mind my own business. But then I realized that sharing how I view and experience the world could, at a maximum, change someone else’s life for the better or, at a minimum, help them just a little. Hence, the writing, the Instagram and so on.

I also figured that for the forty year old, as an example, a golf lesson would be as much about life as it would be about golf.

abk=abk Golf.

—

Here is how the lesson went:

How long have you been a PGA Professional?

I am not a PGA Professional.

Uhhh…well, did you play college golf?

I played college soccer.

Uhhh…well, how long have you been teaching?

Would you like to hear the five minute story? I won’t charge you to listen.

Sure.

(I tell story.)

Holy crap, that’s crazy.

(I give the lesson. After the lesson, I go and drop him off at his car.)

Dude, thanks for today. I have been mulling over making a life change. You know, doing something I really want to do with my life. I have obviously heard about people doing it, but I had never met anyone who actually did it.

—

Funny…absolutely no mention of getting better at golf.

—

Have a great week.-Benj

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“It’s amazing you are not 300 pounds.”- my friend Junior, to me

My pal Junior arrived in town last Thursday. Friendly and respectful when we first met years ago, we have become damn good friends over the past five years. He is on his journey, and I am on mine, journeys of self-improvement and self-mastery. We talk regularly, discussing our progress, fears, and offering each other support. I remember one of our first conversations years ago, as we both began taking the baby steps required to break out of our shells and drive a lifelong, intentional journey. How do we start? First step?

Just try a new food.

—

Upon his arrival in New Orleans, we drove straight to Domilise’s, maybe the best po’ boy place on the planet. Unfortunately, we were met with a sign on the door that said: “Closed Today. No Workers.” Fortunately, it’s New Orleans, so we drove three blocks to Guy’s, maybe a top fiver on Planet Earth.

I think the only thing they got wrong was Junior’s name, the nice lady referring to him as Julian for the rest of the day. They definitely did not get “The Bomb” wrong, a footlong plus sandwich stuffed with shrimp, catfish, cheddar, creole mustard, and pickles, the flavors melding together perfectly.

‘Twas the bomb. Dot com.

—

Lost in all of this overly serious self-journey talk, Christy has become an unbelievably creative chef, tossing in flavors here and there that reinforce Junior’s curiosity about how I am not 300 pounds. On the menu were fajita bowls, a tag-teamed shrimp and crab boil, fresh fish tacos they caught themselves the day before, and this chow chow relish over a pork shoulder recipe that I found in some bullshit flimsy flyer that landed in my mailbox.

Flavorful. Spicy. Colorful. All abk words that bleed over into so many other aspects of living.

—

It is no coincidence that in a recent ESPN article, LSU just down the road in Baton Rouge was named the unequivocal best place to tailgate in America. One contributor chose to mildly dissent, offering The Grove just up the road at Ole Miss as a valid challenger.

I’ve personally been to twelve of the fourteen SEC campuses (coming next week), and if the food/drink/vibe/football quality is the general measurement, it’s not even close. Gumbo, jambalaya, alligator… stuff that I never would have even sampled years ago.

But now…

For me and my current way of living, it all started with trying a new food, both literally and figuratively. I still don’t know any better way to figure out what you truly love in life.

—

Christy and Banks took Uncle Junior back to the airport on Tuesday, a wonderful five day feast finally coming to an end. Well, for me, at least. Those sneaky jokers grubbed at Domilise’s.

Apparently, some workers willing to pile high the shrimp, roast beef, and gravy had indeed been found.

—

Have a great week.-Benj

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My two favorite shows on TV are Ted Lasso and The Rookie. In the former, a goofball American football coach, amidst some self-reflection, heads over to England to coach professional soccer, despite having zero experience with soccer. In the latter, a forty-something guy from the east coast, amidst some self-reflection, moves to Los Angeles and becomes a rookie in the LAPD, despite no police background and his relative advanced age.

You could say I can relate well to both.

—

This past week, I played my best golf in the last two plus years aka my life. I’ve shot a few better scores, but my two under par 70 Sunday round and my 36-35 Wednesday/Thursday eighteen hole combo were quite satisfying. I was hitting the ball right where I wanted to, a couple of overly slow putts away from going low for the first time in a minute.

I’ve struggled with three lingering things over the past few months, weaknesses that were exposed heavily at my first ever real golf tournament: first hole nerves, last hole or two stupidity, and errant driving. So I went back to work, and last week finally started to show some results amidst my normal ho hum rounds of 76 and 77.

In the Sunday 70 round I referenced above, I eagled my next to last hole of the day. In the Thursday 35, I birdied my last three holes. All week, my driver was on a rope. Some confidence is finally brewing again. But how did we get here?

—

At 39 years old, to become the dumbest guy in the room, the worst player in the group, and have a neverending supply of welcome to moments was never my goal. Who in the hell would choose that?

But they have actually been my golden ticket and the secret sauce to getting better. (And better. And better.) Pairing those things with my genuine curiosity and willingness to grind, progress was inevitable. It wasn’t easy. I had to develop real, bona fide patience, and I had to smash my ego for a second. I’m so far behind the eight ball, I just have to get to work here. I can bring the Air Jordans and pink crocodile belts back eventually.

And I did, and I have. And the belts are even wilder and crazier. But I’m better at golf now. Much better.

—

It’s weird to sit in my new role, a role often reserved for twenty something former college golfers, ready to start their golfing careers.

It’s also weird to shoot a pretty damn good 74, come inside and report it, and no one gives two shits. The world I occupy now lives in under par, or no one cares. But I love that. Excellence.

—

I do have one real advantage, though, something that is repeated over and over about the lead characters in both shows I mentioned above. I don’t see the world or the industry or much of anything through traditional or conformist eyes. I’m not built that way, and I damn sure didn’t allow myself to be shaped that way.

I had mostly wonderful bosses in my banking career (shout out BQ if you still read along), folks that allowed Benj to be Benj (#abk) as long as I got the job done. Beautifully, my new boss is the same way. A couple of days in, he said, I’m not telling you to do anything. You just tell me what you see.

—

Have a great week.-Benj

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“If you are creating what you really care for, your whole life is a Holiday.”-Sadhguru

You may have noticed that my writings don’t arrive like clockwork on Sunday anymore. I assure you that I haven’t gotten lazy. If anything, the complete opposite is true.

For years now, I’ve written about wanting a fluid lifestyle, where Saturday is no more important than Monday and Tuesday is no less fun than Friday. Well, I have finally gotten my wish, and as such, the writings will likely be arriving between Monday and Wednesday until further notice.

—

Effective roughly three weeks ago, weekends and holidays have been redefined. Shifted, if you will. So have bed times, wake up calls, mornings, afternoons, and evenings. It’s just completely fluid. My life is now tended to in little two day increments.

A few days a week, I’m up at 430am. I’m not in love with that wake up call because I have to be in bed the night before so early, but I’m on the golf course by 230pm those days, so it’s all good.

A few days a week, I’m up at 8am, and I love these days. The night before lends itself to unhurried dinners, quality family time, and who knows what. The morning of, I may leisurely read a book while taking in the water views. And until the time changes, that night’s activity is sunset golf at 6pm, my absolute favorite.

The late shift-early shift on back to back days might as well be one long-ass day (shout out naps and stretching), but the opposite early shift-late shift combo almost has a full day off in between (jet ski anyone?).

Fridays, Saturdays, and Sundays are Grand Central Station at our golf course, so my weekends are now some combination of Monday, Tuesday, and/or Wednesday. I may work six days one week and five days another, but it may feel like eight days one week and only three days another. My iPhone location doesn’t know if I’m at work, play, or what’s going on. Work, play, eat, drink, laugh. Rinse and repeat.

I tell folks that I am a social coordinator at a barber shop now. We watch sports. Play sports. Talk sports. Talk life. Talk nonsense. Laugh a lot.

—

Soccer, school, and PGA Junior League start for my big man soon. Christy is going to try her hand at high school teaching, God bless her. Baby girl is almost here. I plan to get the okay to start teaching golf this fall.

And football season, my favorite, is right around the corner. Will there be time to watch and enjoy?

I guess it’s a good thing I work at the barber shop now. In SEC country. In a casino town.

—

Have a great week.-Benj

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“Don’t be realistic on what you want. Be realistic on how you are going to get it.”- Rachel Wolchin

Two separate incidents over the past two weeks have made me laugh out loud. First, on my first official day as newly appointed assistant golf professional, a customer asked me, Was this your plan all along? Ha! Second, I received an email from The Arthritis Foundation in New York City asking me if Round 3 of the NYC Marathon was of any interest to me this coming November. Double Ha aka haha!

—

I can assure you that becoming an assistant golf professional in Mississippi was not a part of the plan. I can assure you that running two NYC Marathons was not a part of the plan (it ain’t happening again Arthritis Foundation). I can assure you that hitchhiking in remote Iceland was not a part of the plan. I can assure you that waking up where I wake up every day now was not a part of the plan. I can assure you that becoming a father again at nearly 40 (just a number) to hopefully a beautiful, healthy daughter was not a part of the plan.

Everything big picture abk-related has been unplanned, and the lack of confinement has made my world huge. It has opened my heart. It has made my world more interesting and has provided meaning, purpose, and limitless opportunity. A love story about living.

It has also led to me writing down four things (well, five things, but getting more tattoos to document the journey is not that important) that some might categorize as unrealistic.

Tournaments 2024. abk Consulting. abk Golf Academy. Real estate.

—

On the other end of the spectrum, the actionable, sometimes tedious abk-related details must be intentional and tended to regularly. Grinding, discomfort, commitment, and focus are major parts of life.

Tending to the Tournaments 2024 ambition daily is a bit of a puzzle, but I love a good challenge, and I enjoy playing so much. Elbow pain. Constant soreness. Fatigue. Occasional disinterest. Weather…

Tending to the long-term abk Golf Academy ambition daily seems to be on the right path, as I have been a sponge around some terrific teachers for the past two years. Fingers crossed (which means nothing), I should be given the green light to begin my foray into teaching by fall.

Tending to the abk Consulting ambition is the most complicated of the bunch, but presents the biggest opportunity. I observe so many people regularly that can’t see or are afraid of their own potential that I want to explode. I see the opportunity to help so clearly. The manner in which to help is still a little fuzzy, though I do speak up more often now.

Tending to the real estate ambition is more of a weekly or monthly thing. I enjoyed my four previous real estate endeavors in North Carolina. I have enjoyed the latest construction project in coastal Mississippi. I am constantly looking at real estate in New Orleans, Los Angeles, Wyoming, and Montana. Something that complements the abk lifestyle. What is realistic. What is unrealistic. Better yet, what is actually realistic that we somehow convince ourselves is not.

—

I have done a lot of unrealistic things over the past few years, and I’m excited to do a lot more. It’s crazy how when you actually do them, they go from unrealistic to simply done. Redefined.

Statistically speaking, the most unrealistic thing I have accomplished in the past few years is a tossup between making an albatross (double eagle) on the golf course and actually finishing Round 2 of the NYC Marathon with minimal training due to sickness and injury.

—

Of course, running Round 3 would certainly take the cake (I swear I’m not doing it 😉 ).

—

Have a great week.-Benj

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“You know the type, loud as a motorbike, but wouldn’t bust a grape in a fruit fight.”-Jay-Z

—

I am a very independent person, as you probably know by now. I also don’t get shook very often, preferring to go and do, process whatever happens, and then get on with it (which sometimes works and sometimes doesn’t).

Both traits can be huge assets. They can also be huge weaknesses.

These traits are why playing golf is right up my alley. It’s an individual sport, and one that can get you shook in the blink of an eye. Therefore, the mental practice is as important, if not more, than the physical. I have done a ton of work on both aspects in the past two years, but sometimes you just need a little something different.

—

In my life, I have had six or eight or ten moments that I consider perspective changers. Things that have happened that alter my life’s trajectory or how I decipher this wacky/beautiful world that we live in.

Some have literally been life or death. The death of a childhood friend. The death of another childhood friend. Some have been less than life or death, but similarly influential. An event here. An experience there.

And then there is what happened in my golf tournament two weeks ago, something so unimportant comparatively, yet possessing the same possibility to alter my coming months and years, should I give it that power.

Before you laugh, two quick words. First, golf is rarely ever about golf. Substitute the word life, and we will all be talking the same language. Second, I’ve seen it with my own two eyes. People who are experts in their field. People that maybe wield a scalpel beautifully. But because of something that happened to them, something perspective altering, a three foot putt scares them to death.

—

With my adrenaline pumping on the first tee two Thursdays ago, I felt like I could hit the ball to Louisiana, and by God, I almost did. Twice. Fast forward ten long minutes, and in a stark contrast, my entire being felt completely defeated. Two plus years of grinding, and I had played myself completely out of my first golf tournament on the very first hole. Immediately after writing down that 9 on the scorecard, I looked over at my good buddy turned caddy turned shrink and calmly said, What the f**k just happened?

—

I received 15 or 20 texts, calls, and messages of support over the next 48 hours, for which I am and will be eternally grateful. These friends knew it wasn’t life or death stuff, but they did seem to know a good bit about support and encouragement regarding something that was obviously very important to me.

My main man, Kaddy Kris, who was with me every step of the way, is to be thanked even more. When people ask me how the week was, I answer honestly that it was a great time and a great learning experience. Without Kris, that would not have been the answer. Dinner each night would have been very lonely.

But the most unlikely sources of support (I should know better by now) were the locals on the coast at the golf course, some who can be a little rough around the edges, some who are real mens’ men, some who I honestly was a little nervous to face. Excellent, lifelong golfers who had been there, done that themselves, eager to now offer a kind word.

(anything but khakis – having been through something that you might think is embarrassing or scary or whatever and using that experience to help other fellow human beings)

I received a half dozen to a dozen real war stories. Horror stories. Funny stories. Words of encouragement that caught me off guard and hit me deep. It takes real courage to do what you did. To put yourself out there. I couldn’t feel my arms either. I made a 10. Keep grinding. Just a little tweak here and there with your driver. It’s right around the corner for you. We see it. We know it. It’s coming.

—

Gruff granddads all of a sudden turning into kind mother hens. What a wacky/beautiful world that we live in.

—

Have a great week.-Benj

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With my nerves at an all-time high, I basically shot myself out of the tournament on my first tee shot Thursday morning, my ball narrowly missing a spectator who surely thought he was far left enough to be safe.

With my adrenaline at an all-time high, I re-teed my ball, smoked it, and then watched it hit a cart path that had no business being in play, the golf ball then bouncing on top of a nearby cottage’s roof.

With my confidence at an all-time low, I finally finished the hole and wrote down a 9 on my scorecard. And then, for the next four hours, I fought like hell to turn what was looking like a potential 115 into a 91. Odd as it sounds, given that I finished 10 spots out of last place and usually shoot around 75, I was kind of proud. If you recall the end of one of my last pieces, I wrote simply, Don’t give up on yourself.

—

As we celebrated my parents and their 50th wedding anniversary over the past week, certain stories about them came roaring back into my mind, a couple of which I would like to share.

When Christy and I told my parents we were moving to Mississippi to attempt a different kind of life, one loaded with uncertainty but where the possibilities were endless, my parents’ responses epitomized everything they mean to me. My dad, who I can count the times on one hand where he has ever told me what to do, responded simply, Good for you. My mom, who we joke learned her lesson about telling me what to do when she told me I didn’t know how to raise a dog or run a marathon, cried, said, We will miss you, but good luck.

No pressure to stay, no this is a big mistake, no guilt trip for taking their grandson ten hours away, no this is not normal, no what if this fails. Just good for you, and good luck.

—

Thinking it was impossible to start Day 2 of the tournament worse than the first, I quickly got a wake up call that tournament golf has no sympathy. After the starter announced, Benjamin Bostic from Ocean Springs, I felt my arms go limp. I proceeded to hit my tee ball left into knee high riff raff, took five strokes to get out, had a backwards chip, a regular chip, and 3 putts to finally get the ball in the hole. A bit lost but oddly calm, I wrote down a 10 and then got on with it, my caddy and good buddy Kris somehow keeping a smile on my face. We had some good birdie looks, and then hole 7 appeared, eager to dash my hopes and dreams forever.

Thirteen strokes later that included a lost ball and a few unplayable lies, I exhaled and looked at Kris. Both speechless, there was nothing left to do but fight like hell to turn a potential 115 into a 92. So I decided to par nine of the final eleven holes and post a ridiculous 54-38 split that made the girl at the scorer’s table giggle. Odd as it sounds, given that I finished 10 spots out of last place and usually shoot around 75, I was kind of proud. If you recall the end of one of my last pieces, I wrote simply Don’t give up on yourself.

—

As I’ve reflected on everything in my life over the past four plus years, it occurred to me that my mother was in the same league as an elite athlete. As a professional pianist for basically a lifetime now, she knew what it took to be good, day in and day out, for fifty years. If I had a dollar for every time I called home and my dad said, Your mother is out practicing, I’d be a billionaire. This remains the case today, even at 70+ years old.

Some time in the last year, my mom and I were deep in conversation at their kitchen table in Wingate. I forget how we got to this point, but we were discussing the difference in being a professional, being good, and thinking you are good, but not truly being there yet. Watching mom turn into her other role for maybe the first time ever in that kitchen, she told me, Benj, sometimes you just aren’t good enough yet, and that’s okay.

—

As awesome as it would be to share some romantic, lovey dovey memory of my parents, their marriage and their partnership means something completely different to me as their son. In tandem, side by side, both individually and together, they have given me the freedom to do whatever I want to do with my life. Move to Mississippi or move to Mars? Get good at golf at the absurd age of 39?

They have always required one condition, though. Time and real effort are mandatory. Resilience. Toughness. Consistency. Patience. But failure? I’ve never heard them utter the word.

—

This week taught me a number of things. Least important is that I need to learn to drive the ball straighter and eliminate first tee nerves. More important is that I continue to work hard and get better as I am clearly not good enough yet. Most important is that I understand better why my parents have been married for 50 years.

—

Have a great week.-Benj

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