“When you have a goal like this, it has to be an obsession. For better or worse, everything else takes a back seat. You are basically trying to win the lottery.” – Comedian Nate Bargatze

What changed in 2019? Everything.

In 2019, I slept in my own bed for only 36 nights. I had 4 major injuries (foot, hip, lower back, upper back). I explored 22 states and Mexico. I golfed in 12 states and Mexico. I travelled roughly 30,000 miles. I played or practiced golf 194 days. In 8.5 months, I shaved 12.7 strokes off of my average score (94 to 81.3) and 8.7 strokes off of my handicap (14 to 5.3). My best score was 74 (last Thursday), and I shoot in the 70s regularly now. I had only 2 haircuts. After March 22, I got dressed up twice.

I currently own neither khakis nor jeans nor lots of other things that are simply not necessary at this time in my journey.

My love for style has not dwindled one bit. I’ve just replaced pinstripe suits with floral hoodies and golf clothes.

Plantar fasciitis is a big, bad bitch.

Watching the savings account go backwards instead of forwards is not for the faint of heart.

There’s good debt. There’s bad debt. And there’s no debt. The latter is freedom.

“You definitely want a little spice in your life. But too much can be unpalatable.”- Golfer Phil Mickelson

Travel thoughts right now? Definitely=Dallas and Natchez. Maybe=Mexico. Wish list=Detroit.

Cost of living difference from uptown Charlotte to Mississippi? Extreme.

I carry cash now. Casino town.

“Rare to find an educated, qualified professional who works only when he needs money, then quits his job when it’s time to be moving along, chasing tournaments like they’re roaming buffalo.”-Author Tom Coyne

Someone may look happy but actually be miserable. Someone may have a lot of friends but actually be lonely. Someone may appear to have it together but actually be broken. Been there. Done that.

Look to your left. Look to your right. You have no idea.

Something that is super simple or easy for you may be very difficult for me, and vice versa.

I absolutely love being a father, but I’ve really had to work at it.

“…what she considered success I considered failure.”-DJ Harvey

What are you interested in? Are you pursuing it? If not, why?

From a traditional financial standpoint, I took 9 months off. From every other standpoint, I was ON IT every single day. I made a massive investment in myself and the trajectory of my (and others’) future.

Early on, almost every day, I doubted or questioned myself. What am I doing? Being intentional felt selfish. Being so different felt weird.

“Pressure is a privilege.” -Billie Jean King

I voluntarily moved to a place where so many people believe the complete opposite of what I do.

I hope Christy and Banks are happy. That is a massive part of this.

You don’t have to pretend in New Orleans.

I love stuff that tastes good and looks good. Those are my vices.

Mountain Dew is my Jack Daniels. BBQ is my drug of choice.

I eat 20% of my meals at gas stations now.

“The journey doesn’t really start until things go sideways.”-Patrick Koenig, Joe Garvey

Coaching four year old soccer will teach you to let go. Otherwise, you might have a heart attack.

abk has no financial goal. Only impact.

Over 11,000 different people have read along at anythingbutkhakis.com at some point. Some read once and never return. Some read periodically. Some read every week.

I’m finally finding my community. It spans all over the country. Fits me perfectly.

I’m not the same person on days I don’t get to play golf.

I shot 75 last Friday and was not happy at all. I think this says something about me.

Actions dictate results. Attitude dictates luck.

Stuff is overrated and mostly unnecessary.

I feel like I’ve lived three full lifetimes over the past few years. I know how lucky I am.

I walked into Tijuana and played golf. That was crazy.

Every day is an opportunity to shoot the best score of my life. I’ve done it twice in December.

Sunshine is the best medicine.

Southern Mississippi at sunset is absolutely stunning.

You and I have a lot to be thankful for. Just trust me. I’ve seen some things.

My biggest struggle? I am wildly independent, but I’m working on it.

There are a zillion different worlds out there. Go find the one you want to live in.

The biggest travel surprise of the year was either southwestern Oklahoma; Eureka Springs, Arkansas; or Bryant, Alabama.

I have a hard time listening to people who have no frame of reference for what I am trying to do. It’s so much bigger than golf, likes, and follows. It’s impact. It’s lives. It’s happiness.

At the end of the day, I’m going to do it the abk way.

Vision can get ruined by focusing too much on taking out the trash.

Having said that, the trash still has to be taken out.

“Everything you can imagine is real.” -Pablo Picasso

I’ve become a Pelicans fan, but I’m definitely not a Saints fan. Drew Brees is class, though.

What scares me? Wanting independence and getting loneliness. Also, completely losing my health.

Health insurance costs are insane.

I would rather make the wrong decision than no decision at all. A million times over.

No excuses. Just own it.

“It’s my secret love to read the blog every week…I just won’t admit it in public of course.” -Anonymous friend via text

What’s most important to me? Action. Patience. Mindset. Attitude. Self-awareness. Freedom. Acceptance.

I like seeing alligators every day, but I also love wearing alligator belts. I struggle with that.

It is incredibly hard to build something from scratch.

We are all on a journey. I wasn’t put on earth to be a banker, though maybe I was for that period of time.

I’m 951 days into my conscious journey of living. I’m just a baby.

Biggest win of my journey so far? Becoming human.

The answer is still always yourself. But a helping hand never hurts.

These pictures from Torrey Pines in California, Tijuana Country Club, and Sand Hollow in Utah are my favorite golf images of the year.

A massive thank you to my family, friends, various landlords (lol), biggest supporters, golf buddies, travel mates, doctors, rehab team, and golf crew at Shell Landing.

2020 resolutions? Keep living. Inspire others to do the same.

I’ll be back in a few weeks. Enjoy your holidays.-Benj

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“Actions speak louder than words.”- overused, but accurate, expression

Well, it’s the end of the year. Hell, it’s the end of the decade. I don’t really know what that means to me except that next week, I will share my annual favorite quotes, learnings, and experiences. But first…

—

I lived a dream this year. And I’ve got great news…it ain’t ending just yet. Actually, in some ways, it is just beginning.

I’ve been on this journey for just over 2.5 years now (8 months 100% all in), and year 1 laid the groundwork for year 2, year 2 for year 3, and year 3 for what I am anticipating to be a tittilating year 4.

And do you want to know what one of my biggest secrets is that I really, really want to share? At the very beginning, I had no idea what the hell I was doing!!!! At all!!! Whatsoever!!! I was scared just like everyone else!

Okay, back to our golf voices. Seriously, you can call it leaving the comfort zone or faith or whatever. All I knew is that I wanted something different, like really different, and I was hellbent on making it happen.

I had no training in fashion or writing or photography or golf, but I wanted to learn. What did I want to be in this life? How did I want to go about being it?

Did I want to actually travel extensively or just say I was an avid traveler and talk bullshit? Was traveling a skill? Could I get better? Could I enjoy it more?

This was going to be a totally different world from the cushy, luxurious banking world where I wore beautiful suits and Italian shoes and took in a large guaranteed paycheck with excellent benefits.

This was 100 degree Mississippi days with an aching back, hips, and feet, bouncing around in tiny temporary living quarters, paying my own exorbitantly priced health insurance, and working daily for no pay to begin inching towards the world in which I one day wanted to live.

—

Though not for the faint of heart in 2019, experiencing certain things can be much more enjoyable when the prospect of monetary gain is not involved, even if only for a short period of time. It was beautiful to stop, reset, and become fully intentional.

On the style front, I wore whatever I wanted. On the writing front, I wrote whatever I felt needed to be said. On the photography front, I captured real beauty. On the travel front, I immersed myself in as many new, real places as humanly possible.

But the real focus somehow evolved into golf. I honestly didn’t see that coming. And while golf travel, buddy trips, golf architecture, and meeting new golf friends were all awesome, my focus was to get good. Pretending anything else would be misleading.

So I spent varying degrees of every day since April 17, 2019 focusing on getting better. And 10 days ago, I took that next step. I hired a PGA Pro to work with, and soon after, I shot my best round ever, a 75 from the tips that culminated with a knee-knocking birdie on 18. That’s getting close to real golf, homies. Now, after posting 11 rounds in the 70s in the past two months, it’s time to rinse and repeat exclusively.

—

As I reflect on the end of a year, a decade, an era (if we want to sound romantic), one thing stands out to me.

That I was once an inexperienced dreamer with grand, untested ideas. That because I liked style and clothes so much, people would take me seriously on a variety of subjects just because of the way I was dressed. (That’s the genius of fashion and sometimes the curse to its wearers.)

I wasn’t inexperienced at everything. I was genuinely good at soccer, forging real relationships, and finance, to name a few. But there were others, like golf, that I received some kind of credibility simply because my stylish clothes perfectly hugged my (now not so) slender frame. (Shout out Cajun cooking.)

No more. Everything I write, unless stated otherwise, is from actual experience. I’ve seen it. I’ve felt it. I’ve lived it. I’m now an experienced doer, though still green on so many things.

I love doing the work. I love writing, photographing, traveling, and documenting my golf journey extensively. Daily. Though I may take a brief personal hiatus to start the year, the focus is not going to change. I keep telling myself that with continued work, there may be something out there that even I couldn’t dream, which is mind blowing.

—

Bluntly, I think New Year’s resolutions are goofy. They are a great excuse to put something off until next year or to start something because it’s popular in the mainstream, and then quit when it’s not.

So how about this. On May 15, 2017 (random date), I published an article about fashion and first impressions, and this article launched my fashion, writing, photography, travel, and golf journey.

What, you may ask, does that article have to do with getting good at golf? Not a damn thing. Not one damn thing.

And that’s how journeys work. You take that scary first step. You leap. You bob. You weave. You keep at it. And then one day, you shoot 75 from the tips in Mississippi, of all places. Then, miraculously, it all turns into something way more meaningful than golf.

Final 2019 thoughts next week.

Have a great week.-Benj

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A lot happened this week, and I don’t know what I should tell you. Maybe I should tell you that I formally applied for Teach for America for the Fall 2020 school year, a potential opportunity to teach, coach, and inspire teenagers in low-income areas (more to come). Maybe I should tell you that I touched a computer for the first time in eight months, needing to be reminded how simply to turn it on. Maybe I should tell you that I met a complete stranger Tuesday who had me playing as his partner at one of the nicest courses in America not 24 hours later. For free. Or maybe I should tell you that I began my work with the PGA Pro on Thursday, putting in motion an exciting journey for the upcoming weeks and months. (I shot the best score of my life Saturday. 75. From the tips.)

But those don’t make the cut this week. I had a moment last Monday. A real human moment. And since not all of us here are golfers, but we are all humans trying to be just a little better, this one stays. Enjoy.

—

One of the reasons I love to travel to real places is because it helps me feel what’s real. The exciting, the heartbreaking, and everything in between. The exciting reminds me that I am alive. The in between gives me a sense of normalcy. But the heartbreaking really opens my eyes (and sometimes makes them tear up).

The heartbreaking takes my focused, sometimes aloof attitude and puts it in check. It silences me. It humbles me. It humanizes me. But most of all, it makes me question what I have done to be in my place and what someone else has done to be in theirs. There is always an answer, but it’s not the one you think.

I am lucky, and maybe you are too.

—

Last Monday, a cold front rolled into the Deep South. It was about 45 degrees with 35mph winds, but I’m dedicated, so the course beckoned. Warming up on the driving range directly into the wind, I hit wedge after wedge as the sand beneath the soil blew hard into my eyes.

That was enough of that, so I moseyed on over to the first tee, unsure of what was about to happen. Fast forward some five hours and 36 holes later, and I was fried (or frozen). Annoyed didn’t begin to describe it. The wind gusts had taken all of the moisture out of the greens, and putts just wouldn’t stop. It was like the US Open at Shinnecock Hills a couple of years ago, even on the uphill putts. I wanted to Phil Mickelson it more than a couple of times.

As I ended the round(s) with, miraculously, a more than acceptable score for playing in a hurricane, this is what I thought to myself. Was this a complete waste of time?

So, as I typically do, I called my dad to discuss the day. But this time, it was to vent.

—

Still slightly agitated from The Great Tornado of 2019, I needed to stop by the local grocery store to grab a couple of items: bottled water, toilet paper, chewy nerds, lemon Oreos, more gummies, and Sunkist orange soda. The necessities, you know.

I didn’t get a buggy, holding the case of bottled water and using it as a base. As I walked toward the checkout area with sugary nonsense piled up to my chin, I eyeballed what I thought was the shortest line, still two or three people deep. As I approached a young Hispanic couple with their toddler, the father cleared his items off the conveyor belt so that I could set down my gaggle of frivolous bullshit. He was a handsome young man probably thirty years old, and I thanked him for his gesture.

I waited my turn as he and his family checked out, only to be shaken internally when I saw him pay for their dinner with literal nickels and pennies. Before I could process what I was seeing, the transaction was complete, and they were off to enjoy a modest family meal together in, hopefully, some place warm.

—

Just minutes earlier, I had been bothered by having to play 36 holes in less than desirable weather. On a Monday. And let’s not forget, this is not even my living, this is a project.

And then, though the toilet paper and water (maybe) were necessities, the remaining items I was buying were excessive, fattening, gluttonous garbage.

Yet the young man, seemingly struggling to feed his family with actual dollar bills, saw me. He really saw me. And it brought a few of those tears.

—

I hear the terms “season of giving” and “season to be thankful” during this time of year, and I can’t help but admire its benevolent intent and even results, but squirm at its brutal seasonality.

—

Maybe someone got to their path via a correct decision. Maybe someone got to their path via an incorrect decision. Maybe someone was born into the correct family. Or maybe, just maybe someone simply got dealt a less than full hand of cards. Regardless, everyone deserves to be seen. Every day. I’ve been reminded of this over and over during the past few years in my travel, over and over during the past few months in Mississippi, and then again Monday.

I hope I see this young man again some time in the near future. The town isn’t that big. I want to let him know that I see him too and tell him again how thankful I was of his kind gesture.

But until then, I’ll remind myself daily of a few things. That I’m lucky. Very lucky. That I’m thankful. That I need to do better at seeing everyone. And not just from Thanksgiving to Christmas.

Have a great week.-Benj

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My, how things have changed. Some eight to nine months ago, my average golf score was 94. Now? 81.1. Am I pleased? That’s a great question.

—

Let me be the first to acknowledge the absurdity of all of this. That while everyone else in the world is seemingly doing something that matters, I am playing golf. 176 days so far in 2019. And not just pop in and hit a few balls kind of days, more like play 27-36 holes kind of days.

I arrive to the course whenever my elderly body allows me to now, and I leave when it gets dark. That may be 4 hours. It may be 6. I am currently nursing right elbow tendinitis and go to physical therapy twice a week for my tender right foot and ankle. Otherwise, I cannot believe my body has held up. As a necessity, I stretch about every three minutes. I also must burn a zillion calories per day because I eat everything in sight. Put it in front of me, and I’ll eat it. Put it near me, and I’ll eat it. Show it to me on a commercial, and I’ll go get it.

—

I think about it all the time. Food? Well, yes. But I’m talking about golf. I’m completely immersed in it. I read articles, watch videos, and interact via social media. But most importantly, I play. There is no substitute for it. The other stuff is just entertainment.

In golf, playing is the only way to get better. In golf, actually doing the work is the only way to get better. There are no shortcuts. No fancy tricks. I’ve tried.

In the eight to nine months I’ve been working, I have had to hit every rung on the ladder. Get worse first then a little better. Then a little better. Then a lot better. Then plateau. Then bust through. Then get a little better. Then get worse. Lose some confidence. Get frustrated. Then turn another corner.

I just turned another corner. But first, I plateaued and even took a few steps backwards. I got my handicap down to 4.9 a few weeks ago but have seen it rise to 6.7 currently. That’s okay (and probably accurate) as I’ve once again been working on my right hand grip that one day, I swear, will be correct.

The process gets tedious. Tiresome. Frustrating. But I remind myself every day that there are no shortcuts. Make the changes. Do the work. Keep focused.

—

Over the past two weeks, I broke 80 five times and posted 80 on the number two other times. The mindset now when I leave the house is break 80 or else. And really, it’s not just break 80, it’s more like shoot 76-78 now. I just did it three days in a row.

Though it wasn’t an initial goal of mine, I’m now dialed in on getting my average score below 80. Focusing on my handicap is still great, but if I can get my average score below 80, the handicap will take care of itself. Handicap is a measure of potential. Average is a measure of hardcore, no frills math.

—

I’ve got 31 seemingly 70 degree Mississippi days left to work in 2019. If I could drop that average from 81.1 to 79.9 in that time period (which is certainly doable), I would consider the 2019 golf progress a major success. From 94 to 79.9 in nine months in a category measuring quality and consistency? Yes, please. I’ll have that along with three burgers and three tacos.

—

Next Wednesday, I start my work with the PGA Professional. It’s time to get serious. I’ve slowly worked from a baseball grip to a strong grip to a semi-strong grip, and it’s now time to get it right once and for all. I MUST get the driver in the fairway more often, and I need to add a couple more creative shots around the green to my arsenal.

But overall, I am pleased. Very pleased, thanks for asking. It’s been a ton of fun and a ton of work, but I’m genuinely happy with the progress. If I can get to where I know deep down in my soul that I can shoot 75 on a good day and 78 on a bad day, I will take the next step. But I’m not there yet. Last Friday with my father, I hit the ball right, righter, and further righter-er-er. And then Monday, I hit four balls in the water on the last two holes to ruin a rather ho-hum but more than acceptable round. But it’s brewing.

Next step? Sure. Sign up for some local tournaments. Reach out to tell my story to some golf industry folks. Write a book.

Write a book? Yeah. I’ve kept copious notes just for that purpose. Every. Single. Day.

It’s about the daily grind, not some specific end goal, and I’m not going to tell you again.

(Actually, I probably will. Lots. Maybe in a book.)

Have a great week.-Benj

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I’m a wigwam. I’m a teepee. I’m a wigwam. I’m a teepee.

The problem is you are two tents.– courtesy of an ancient adage (or silly joke)

—

That was my problem. Two tents. Too tense. Or better yet, too intense. One speed. A million miles a minute. Inherently, there was nothing wrong with that. But for whatever reason, I couldn’t enjoy everything I was “accomplishing”. Too tense. Too driven? So when I couldn’t even enjoy my biggest wins, there was indeed a problem. Hi. My name is Benj, and I have a problem.

I needed to chill out. I wanted to be more laid back. Needed to be more laid back. I needed to be able to enjoy myself and my surroundings more. More west coast than east coast. More Tupac than Biggie. I didn’t want drugs. I didn’t want a tranquilizer dart. I needed to do the work. I wanted to do the work.

I had to do something. So off I went.

—

Fundamentally, can we rewire ourselves? That was my curious question. Is it even possible? And I have to tell you, the answer is emphatically MAYBE! That’s why I now understand that the journey trumps the destination.

—

By pure coincidence, it was a twelve minute drive from our cabin that we rented two weekends ago to Sweetens Cove Golf Club. If you haven’t heard of it, check Forbes, The New York Times, or most recently, Sports Illustrated. Located in tiny South Pittsburg, TN just off I-24, it possesses all of the magic of 2019 and beyond. It IS the future of golf.

Be forewarned, it would be VERY different from your normal golf experience. Just be ready.

—

For first timers, the experience starts with a complimentary shot of Tennessee whiskey. (Though I don’t particularly care for whiskey, I gleefully imbibed.) Also prior to the round, I bought a Waffle House style visor from The Shed, their tiny, rustic, nondescript version of a clubhouse. (I don’t wear visors.) I don’t know what had gotten into me. It was madness, and the actual golf hadn’t even begun.

Buzzing from the brown sauce, I hit my opening tee shot right down the middle, and we were off. On Saturday, I played 13 holes with my brother in law, Jonathan, and a stranger from Charlottesville, VA also named John. On Monday (oh yes, I returned Monday), I played 18 holes with some combination of the following: a young couple from Birmingham, their dog, my 4 year old son, a bro from Atlanta, and a bro from Nashville. And at the risk of undue superlative, they were two of the more enjoyable days of golf in my young golf life.

—

The course is only 9 holes, but with 2 flags on each massive green and 4 tee boxes on each hole, the combinations are endless. Play 9. Play 18. Play 13, like I did.

There are barrels on the course that house liquid surprises. Maybe a water. Maybe a beer. I found a Mountain Dew.

There was an eightsome in front of us. There was an eightsome behind us. And yet, the pace of play was lightning fast.

The fourth green is roughly 20,000 square feet. Beware of the roller coaster ride.

No traditional clubhouse. No bathrooms until recently. No beverage cart. No fuss. No stuffiness. No BS.

Country music blaring, of course.

—

In the Sports Illustrated article, the course architect and designer Rob Collins said, “ …lots of architects…placed a lot of self-imposed rules on themselves…all this BS that doesn’t mean anything. It’s just made-up rules that people are putting on themselves.”

That obviously resonated with me as I am almost three years into this journey of burden removal that is so freeing. You know, those made-up rules that I placed on myself. Two tents. Too tense. Too intense.

—

On the Monday, I shot an 82 (with 9,000 rollicking putts) that felt like a 65. This usually would be the definitive note on whether this was a good day or not. But it wasn’t. It wasn’t even in the first paragraph of the conversation. Which was different for me.

—

It’s almost like the rewiring is working.

Have a great week.-Benj

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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.

—

So…

—

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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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

Follow along on Instagram @anythingbutkhakis and @abkgolf.

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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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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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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

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 http://www.anythingbutkhakis.com .