“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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“Summer is for falling in love.”- Musician Sarah Kang

A funny thing happened to me the other day while I was talking to my sister on the phone. She and her family were spending a week at the beach, and she was busy telling me all about it. While I was absolutely buzzing for her and knew that she was having a great time, an odd feeling crept inside of me. As someone who loves to travel, for the first time maybe in my life, I felt numb to her location. Summer vacation? Beach week? Something had changed.

—

Over the past four plus years, I’ve done a complete 180 on roughly 4,297 things (roughly). Of all of those things, most of them were intentional, and most of them I am very pleased with.

I knew I was moving to a place that claimed beautiful weather 10 months out of the year. I knew I was going to a place with a coastal vibe. But until I actually experienced it, I didn’t really understand what all of that meant. Until the lifestyle really started coming together, I didn’t really know what it would look or feel like. But having been deep inside of it for just over two years now, I have a decent idea. The beach is literally across the street. I spend every day at a beautiful golf course, working, playing, or both. A boat ride is a quick text away. A jet ski ride relies merely on calm seas. 80% of the time, the sun is shining.

—

Recently, summer hit, and the talk of summer vacation cropped up. I was as baffled as I had been in a while. Summer vacation? It feels like I am living in a summer vacation. Long story short, I’m constantly looking it wind speeds, wave heights, and my work schedule to determine which activity wins the day: snapper fishing for Christy, island days for Banks, golfing days for Benj, or all three. It’s as non-traditional as it comes, but that’s the whole damn point. As long as the naps and stretching get done (shout out last week’s piece), it’s a limitless opportunity.

So now that it’s actually time for summer vacation, I guess it’s time for another 180.

—

The small towns of Wingate, NC and West Point, MS likely do not top anyone’s summer vacation list. But for the next two weeks, they will be my Vegas, Key West, and Pebble Beach, and I am so excited.

The hardest part of moving away from NC, for me, was moving ten hours away from my family and friends. The move was tailored primarily for Christy and her family, secondarily for Banks’ childhood freedom, and I was tasked with making it all work while embarking on an ambitious personal journey of my own. It’s been a hell of an adventure, and it’s been absolutely the correct move, if there is such a thing. But…

—

It’s time to visit old family and friends. It’s time to celebrate certain major milestones. It’s time to eat Bojangles, Gino’s, and Dave’s Pizza. It’s time to see Coach and watch my big man play on the field I used to roam. I’m so excited. Little ol’ Wingate, NC has me feeling like I’m going to Milan.

With mixed emotions, I have to leave the vacation early to make the nine hour drive to east central Mississippi. I have a smoking hot date with Mossy Oak Golf Club for, I hope, five days. I’m buzzing, but I’m also very nervous, which could easily be the tag line for my last four years of firsts. I’ll be joined by my main man Kris, who will be tasked with keeping me calm and loose. Little ol’ West Point, MS has me feeling like I’m going to Tinseltown.

—

And then summer vacation will end, and I will return to my regularly scheduled summer vacation. You know, the one where I play golf in shorts on Christmas Eve.

—

Have a great week.-Benj

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“…because the easy answer to what they wanted in life was comfort. The great American dream, from my point of view, wasn’t life, liberty, or happiness—it was salary.” -Tom Coyne, A Course Called America

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It should be well documented by now that I have a lot of things I want to do with my life. However, I can assure you that these things do not involve the phrase work, then retire in comfort, then do X.

I see my life as fluid. Live until I die. I chucked literal comfort out the window 25+ years ago, but not by my choice. It was, however, my choice to send figurative comfort packing about four short years ago.

—

One of the main hallmarks of lifestyle design is that, to the extent that it is possible, traditional hours of the day and traditional days of the week don’t matter. Want to do some work at 1am? Want to have some fun on Tuesday midday? Want to go to bed at 8pm on Friday? I’ve been fascinated by this idea for decades.

I called it the Cameron Indoor Effect. If a buddy called and offered Duke basketball tickets for a 6pm tip-off on a random Wednesday, would I drop everything and go? (In my new life, this is called the Augusta National Effect.)

Life could care less about Monday through Friday and 9 to 5. It happens when it happens. It’s been a wonderful and exciting learning for me. When an opportunity presents itself, when life presents itself, we must strongly consider taking the leap. I’ve woken up as early as 3am to do so. I’ve driven 8, 10, 12 hours in a day to do so. It really depends on want to, one of life’s most underrated qualities.

The golf lifestyle that I have chosen has many, many opportunities available, opportunities that can be reimagined and redefined every whichaway to fit my specific desires. Fashion, camaraderie, community, playing, teaching, architecture, travel…I could go on forever. It’s certainly not an uncomfortable lifestyle, but it can be expensive. It can be taxing on the body. Its opportunities can present themselves on odd days or at odd hours. Maybe I have to bob and weave a little. For me, it continues to pose that one burning question. How bad do I want it?

—

That is the question that drove me to wake up before the crack some twenty months ago to play golf in New Orleans with the man who wrote the book that I quoted above. Said book was just released, and damned if I’m not in it.

That is the question that drove me to send a random message to a prominent golf photographer from California who was in town a couple of weeks ago. After three days of no response followed then by a very last minute response, it was that question that caused me to drive two hours to go meet him for ten minutes. Those ten minutes resulted in our exchanging phone numbers, a 4am wake up call the following day to play golf together, and my featuring in his most recent blog under my new pseudonym, Swampy B.

That is the question that caused me to drive eight hours this past Thursday to Mossy Oak Golf Club, site of my first real tournament in three weeks time, to do a little homework. Up at 6am. Home by dark. Investment in the life I am trying to design.

—

So maybe you are wondering about the title?

Yesterday was Golf Day 598. My life has changed dramatically, obviously. Some days I only get 4-6 hours of sleep. Some days I exercise for 6-8 hours. Some days I’m on my feet for 12 hours. My elbows and forearms have lived three lifetimes.

So I take naps, and I stretch constantly. It’s the only way any of this remotely works.

Because as glamorous as the lifestyle looks, as lucky as I know I am, as fun and rewarding as it can be, it’s rarely ever comfortable. And because it’s not comfortable, I get the beautiful opportunity every day to ask myself, How bad do I want it?

—

Have a great week.-Benj

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“Always make a total effort, even when the odds are against you.” -the late Arnold Palmer

It happened on St. Patrick’s Day, 2019. Using official golf metrics, on the chilly morning of Sunday, March 17, I opened my long awaited round at the legendary Pinehurst # 2 by 8-putting the first green en route to an opening hole 11 on the scorecard. If you want to know the proper definition of opening hole jitters, this would probably do the trick.

As an unofficial 14 handicapper who averaged a score of 93 or thereabouts per round, I shot a 109 that day, salvaging my only ounce of pride remaining by one-putting the 18th hole in true Payne Stewart fashion.

As I recounted the day in my mind as I drove out of this wonderful golf village, I was officially sick of not knowing how to actually play golf. I had waited 36+ years to play this jewel which was some two hours from my (now previous) home in Charlotte, NC. I forked over an exorbitant amount of money that, in retrospect, turned out to be a decent dollar to final score ratio. (Don’t get me wrong, the overall experience was fantastic.)

But as a former collegiate soccer All-American whose competition standards remained sky high, I shat the bed that day. And I had had enough.

I had already agreed to move with my family to the Mississippi Gulf Coast in five days. I had already offered my resignation from my commercial banking job in Charlotte. I had already sold my house and was living who knows where with who knows whom. So why wouldn’t I decide that after shooting the worst round of golf in recent memory, I was going to commit my life to getting good at golf for the foreseeable future? And not just getting better. Getting good. And not just getting good. Getting really good.

So five days later, I arrived in Mississippi homeless and jobless, and after a few weeks of rest and rehab for back soreness and fatigue, my dream officially began.

—

It is 26 months later, and I play golf every day. For all intents and purposes, I’ve played golf every day for the past 25 months. I’ve gotten better. A lot better. Some might say I’ve gotten good. Some even really good. I like to stick with I’ve gotten a lot better, because good is so hard to define.

I have a feeling, though, that it is going to be defined for me in 26 days as I tee it up for my first real tournament, the Mississippi State Amateur. I’m proud of myself for having the courage to play in it, to be honest. The field is loaded with ex college studs, big time amateur studs, and at least one wandering wannabe. By every metric available, I should get the shit kicked out of me. But then again, by every metric available, I shouldn’t be in southern Mississippi playing golf every day.

—

Currently, I’m playing to a 1.2 handicap with an average score of 75.5. To the average joe, that’s smoking. To a really, really good golfer, I need to shave five more strokes off. And you know what, I know that. And you know what else, I’ve tried. For nearly 600 days and 3,000 focused hours. But when you get down to that low to mid 70s range, the game gets really, really hard.

Especially for a knucklehead that only really started to get serious about and understand the game at the ripe old age of 37. I might as well be one of these kid’s grandpa.

—

The prize for winning this tournament is an automatic spot in the PGA Tour event that’s held in Jackson, Mississippi each year. I’m a massive dreamer, I’m a massive doer, and I have massive self-belief in certain things, but I’m also a realist. I don’t think I’m anywhere near ready to win.

But I’m ready to start, and I’m finally ready to compete. I need to know what all this looks and feels like. How my heart beats. How my forearms feel over an important putt. How nervous I might be on that opening tee shot.

I have my realistic sights set on 2024, so I have to keep that in perspective. That’s three more years to take five strokes off, body willing.

So for this tourney, I really only have a few things to tell myself. You’ve done the work. Do your best. Stay patient. Dial in. And for the love of God, don’t give up on yourself.

—

Have a great week.-Benj

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If you ever come to my house at The End of the Earth, Mississippi, you will know when you have arrived. Your GPS will look like you are driving through water. If you keep going straight, you will drive into a swamp. Unless you hit a tree first, of course. If you turn right, you have about four seconds until you…

Given the location, it’s likely been a long voyage for you to get there. So just look left and exhale. Freedom and creativity rule the roost. You’ll feel it as soon as you step out of the car. You have arrived.

—

Getting to Far West Texas is roughly the same. At an absolute minimum, it’s a three hour drive from anywhere. For my buddy and abk supporter, Kris, and me, two days. TWO DAYS. But anything but khakis ®️ turned four last Saturday, so an epic abk adventure was in order.

Starting from my house at roughly sea level, we eventually reached almost 8,000 feet on an off-road trail in Big Bend National Park. In Marfa, we experienced the largest hail storm I have ever seen, and twelve hours later it was 104 degrees just a couple hours south. It’s a scruffy, vast terrain, and if you find yourself there, it is not by accident. At our campground, I could have hit a pitching wedge into Mexico, and I thought about it, but then I thought better of it.

—

Numerous folks have asked me, Why Far West Texas? They might as well be asking, Why coastal Mississippi? Why this specific location? Why to any of the crazy places I have visited? The lazy answer is, why not. The more thoughtful answer is creativity, variety, and freedom.

Marfa, Texas is this tiny town, nay intersection, in the middle of freaking nowhere. Roughly 2,000 people live there. It is close to nothing. But somehow, there is this unbelievable international art presence and creative vibe all over town.

I mean, I get it. I’m sure Mississippi is not at the top of any creativity lists, but when I step outside my front door, that feeling I feel begs to differ. I’ve felt it in Cody, Wyoming; Hurricane, Utah; Ocean Springs, Mississippi; and now Marfa, Texas (among others).

Roughly two hours south, Big Bend National Park looms large along the Mexico border. It’s not necessarily a creative place, but it reeks of freedom and variety. Nobody says you can’t do this, you can’t do that, mainly because for hours on end you may not see another human being. Roadrunners? Yes. Mountains? Yes. Desert? Yes. Humans? Maybe not.

—

The biggest drama that we encountered along the trip was the wildly unpredictable weather. Otherwise, no soap operas. No complications. Just nature. On the way home, my buddy, Kris, and I discussed the coolest moments that happened (or didn’t happen). I was hoping to get a cool tattoo in Marfa involving a skull, a cowboy hat, and golf clubs, but they couldn’t fit me in. We got rained out trying to play golf in Austin with my buddy Marcus on the way home.

But of the things that did happen, our Top 5 Moments were unanimous. In reverse order:

1. The food and drink at local Marfa joint Al Campo. The lemon chicken over sweet potato mash was banging.

2. Sunset in the desert.

3. Talking with the locals at the golf course during the hailstorm. They were a little unsure of us Voodoo foreigners at first, but they ended up buying us each a beer.

4. Grilling out hot dogs at the camp site while wild horses grazed close by.

5. Stargazing and planet gazing under the vast, dark, unpolluted West Texas skies, and then having a coyote come visit just before heading to bed.

Nothing fancy. Just life.

—

So why West Texas? Why this? Why that? Surely, after 4 years and 202 articles, it has become crystal clear.

Have a great week.-Benj

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“If you are willing to drop the ideas, philosophies, and belief systems you are currently attached to, you can re-create your entire life with the very next moment.”-Inner Management, Sadhguru

In an effort to take full charge of my life and maximize the possibilities of my entire existence, over the past 1,461 days, I decided to go full bore. If I found something that interested me, I pursued it. If I felt a curiosity, I peeked around the corner. If a self-made limit needed to be pushed, I pushed it. If some PC BS needed to be squashed, I squashed it. If I felt fear, I tried to overcome it. If I felt nervous, I tried to understand why. If an idea, philosophy, or belief system needed to be dropped, I dropped it. If I encountered someone who had the real want to to get better, I took a real interest. If a below-the-surface personal issue needed to be worked on, I got to work.

I went full bore, and I engaged with life in its entirety. No specific category. No specific agenda. Just life. The limitless journey. The whole creative process.

Chapter 1 of anything but khakis®️started May 15, 2017 from the white sand of Destin, Florida. Chapter 5 began May 15, 2021 from the Far West Texas creative outpost of Marfa, TX. In between, I did a lot, and I did it every day. I wrote exactly 200 articles about what I did, saw, thought, and felt. You might have read one or 200 of them. I hope something, anything, resonated just a little.

—

abk is about a lot of things, but at the heart of it is the human journey to get better. Not perfect, but better. Massive difference.

On the surface, there was a literal travel journey that saw me log hundreds of thousands of miles to who knows where. There was and is a golf journey that thoroughly re-engaged me with life. There were relationship journeys, a beautiful parenting journey, a building this unique lifestyle journey. Most important was the often ignored journey of self.

—

My previous personal poison was perfectionism (PPPP), versus just living. I expected it of myself always. I expected it of others sometimes. It may sound like an admirable aspiration, but I can assure you it is no way to attempt life. To self, it is unattainable. To others, it can be annoying, I’m sure.

This journey of trial and error, numerous life lessons, and new experiences has helped. Making left turns has humbled me. Trying to build abk has humbled me. Learning how to play golf well has humbled me. Starting over has humbled me.

One day, my son got mad at something and started yelling. I calmly asked him if he ever heard daddy yelling. He immediately replied, “yes, but only at yourself, at the golf course”. That humbled me.

I’ve written extensively about my efforts to relax and just live. To not necessarily lower my standards, no. Maybe even raise them in some circumstances. But to be nicer to myself if I don’t meet my own lofty demands or if The Universe has other plans for me. That’s been a very freeing journey.

To be intense and relaxed at the same time, consistently, is a personal aspiration. To be physically fit, intellectually sharp, more emotionally available, and full of positive energy. To experience joy in all of these processes instead of seeking perfection. It’s okay to be human. It’s good to be human.

—

I owe a debt of gratitude to so many people. Hundreds, if not more. It’s ironic how many wonderful people who are on their own journeys have been a huge part of this journey of self. My hope is that abk helped you a little also.

I turned 39 yesterday, and Chapters 1-4 are now complete. Chapter 5 is going to be very, very different. But I like different. It’s how I experience life. I’m playing in my first real, serious golf tournament in June, I start a new golf job in July where I have so much I want to do, and I’m going to be a father again (Girl Power!) in September.

As I have been advised by my boss/teacher, I can take this wherever I want to take it, as far as I want to take it. It’s on me to own it. #abk

—

I end Chapters 1-4 and begin Chapter 5 with three of my favorite learnings from the journey so far.

1. My whole life experience revolves around creativity, variety, and freedom. Those three things cannot be stifled. They must thrive. It’s literally who I am.

2. Living outside, in nature, every single day is a completely different existence from constantly being inside.

3. And in the greatest abk irony in the history of abk ironies…though having children in theory limits freedom, I have found parenting with Christy (based heavily on anti-perfectionism and freedom) to be my most favorite thing ever. It took a minute, but the last 3-4 years have been priceless. The car rides to and from school, the soccer games, the days at the golf course, the Pelicans games, the bracelet making, the Friday night camp outs, the teaching, the learning, the love.

—

What’s next? Well, I don’t know. But as the old saying goes, why go and see the movie if you already know the ending?

Far West Texas recap coming Sunday.-Benj

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One of the pitfalls of the outdoor lifestyle, especially as it gets warmer here in The Deep South, is the presence of potentially dangerous animals. The gators, for whatever reason, don’t really phase me. In fact, they fascinate me. But the snakes, oh, the snakes. Copperheads and cottonmouths, namely. They just blend right in.

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A week ago Saturday, I was out on the course playing 18 at sunset. I played the back 9 first and then played holes 1, 2, and 3. As I drove from 3 green to 4 tee, something grabbed my attention. Just on the cart path, the end of a snake’s tail peeked out at me. Just off the cart path, the remainder of the rather thick, venomous snake blended right in.

I’m not a big fan of horsing around with snakes, but something inside of me told me I needed to handle the situation. The snake was nestled right around a bend, right where walkers might walk, camouflaged completely. I couldn’t take the chance that another person might encounter it. At a minimum, I needed to get this joker back into the woods just to my left. So I grabbed a log, some sticks, and some pine combs, but instead of me encouraging the snake to wiggle back into the woods, I just pissed it off. It started striking at me, so I had to punt and go to plan B.

I hopped in my cart, retracing my steps back to the clubhouse so that if any other players were nearby, I could warn them. Back at the clubhouse, I found a couple of guys who were informally trained aka not terrified of snakes, and they came and helped me out.

Long story short, the situation got handled, I finished my round, and I dreamed of snakes for the next three nights (only joking). And then, remarkably, this happened…

—

When I was 23 years old, I found myself looking for a furry companion who, how shall I say it, shared the same zest for life as me. After careful consideration, I got Becks, a newborn Jack Russell terrier, who ate zest for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. (She also ate everyone else’s breakfast, lunch, and dinner, but I digress.)

From the start, she was my spirit animal. She loved life, and she craved freedom. She also drove me nuts, but in a I wouldn’t have it any other way kind of way. She didn’t listen to a damn thing. From Day 1, she was on her own mission, a mission that was bred deep inside of her, and I quietly admired that.

She listened so little that we had to put an electric fence in the yard, but that didn’t matter to her. I keenly remember one day (or a thousand days) where she bolted down the street, getting shocked the entire way. She’d be gone for 15 or 20 minutes, and then she’d return home, neck bright red, but happy as a clam.

For the past however many years, I’ve told people that when it’s her time, she will inevitably die at the hands of another animal, likely a snake, which makes this last bit all the more funny (don’t worry, she didn’t die).

Since the move to Mississippi, Becks has fought raccoons, armadillos, and God knows what. A couple of weeks ago, she fought, well, God knows what.

While we were in South Florida, she stayed at The Farm, where freedom reigns supreme. When we returned and she came home, she was the same old Becks, but with a big grapefruit on one side. I didn’t think anything of it. I never do with her. She’s lived nine lives plus some. But a couple of days later, the grapefruit burst, so Christy took her to the vet.

I wish I had been there when the vet examined her and said, She has been bit by something. Likely a non-venomous snake. Three times. But she’s fine. I can see it happening. The snake bites. Becks keeps at it. The snake bites. Becks keeps at it. The snake bites. Becks finally says screw this and walks away.

I called my parents. They started cracking up. I called my sister. She started howling. I’m giggling just thinking about it. Ol’ Becks. Nearly 16 years old. I’ve got her living to at least 20, easy. She’s just got that zest for life.

—

Have a great week.-Benj

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“There is no place on earth even remotely like New Orleans.”- the late Anthony Bourdain

This week’s piece has the chance to be the worst one I’ve ever written. Out of respect and privacy for the people involved (some quite high profile) along with the ever fluid Covid protocols, many details will remain only in my memory. But I’ll do my best to tell a good story.

Also, sometimes you just get lucky. Maybe my curiosity and desire to LIVE help a little, but truthfully, sometimes you just get lucky.

—

My job as a walking scorer at the PGA Tour’s Zurich Classic of New Orleans last week was to walk inside the ropes with my assigned players, providing real-time scoring that is disseminated all over the world. Also, if there was any weird situation that the players encountered out on the course, I was their lifeline to central command.

I had three must-do’s. Be accurate. Be timely. Be invisible. The first two? No problem. The last one? Easier said then done.

To try and blend in, I dressed in the mandatory uniform, but…

—

One of my professionals in Wednesday’s much more laid back Pro-Am grew up roughly an hour away from where I did. This, combined with him being known as one of the friendliest players on tour, provided an easy opening for me to simply say hello. After he hit his opening tee shot, we found ourselves walking close to each other, so I took the opportunity to say hello and tell him where I was born and raised (shout out Wingate). I cannot print what he said back to me, but I can tell you that it made me laugh out loud. I can also tell you that it began a wonderful conversation that ended about six hours later. (Great job being invisible, Benj.)

He asked me why I left Charlotte, so I told him. We talked about people we both knew and some of our favorite restaurants. We talked Carolina Panthers. The whole group talked golf, soccer, and our kids.

Soon enough, the pranks started. Then came the jokes. The players and caddies were kind enough to let me in on all of it. Before the end of the day, I don’t think a magician could have made me invisible.

—

On Thursday’s first day of competition, it was the complete opposite. Different players. Different personalities. Everyone was cordial. Everyone was focused. I was invisible, which after Wednesday, I kind of liked. I was asked to do a job, so I did it.

—

Over the two days, I was able to be a fan for a couple of hours, roaming the course, the range, and the practice area taking it all in. I interacted closely with six professionals and six caddies. All of them were cordial, 70% were nice, and 40% were downright awesome!

Four of the players were ranked as one of the best 85 golfers on this planet, and therein lied my focus. As amazing and fun and lucky and whatever else was that I experienced, especially on Wednesday, I was there to learn. That’s why I threw my name in the hat. To watch and listen (and even ask a few questions) to decipher why each one was a Top 85 player on Planet Earth.

—

At the end of each round, I received kind words, fist bumps, a signed ball, or a signed glove (I did not request these). I got a crazy cool lifetime memory. But most important for me along my personal golf journey, I saw and heard what details were a given, really didn’t matter, and really freaking did. To the best players in the world.

It was like learning a new language in 48 hours.

—

Have a great week.-Benj

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