NOTE: In my 2024 Annual Letter I wrote about my newly blossomed enthusiasm for the game of golf. My goal is to try to play (9 or 18 holes) a round of golf every week through 2025. I’ll be chronicling my adventures here in this Golf subsection of Getting A Grip. I won’t send all weekly updates via email, but they’ll live here on the Substack page.
"I watched Shivas whenever I could, and slowly his example began to influence me in a peculiar way. I became more and more aware of the feeling of the game, of how it was to walk from shot to shot, how it was to feel the energy gathering as I addressed the ball, how the golf links smelled. It was not that he said anything to me, but his example. He was so physical in the way he moved and responded, like a big animal. The only thing he asked me in fact during those middle holes was whether I could smell the heather. 'It's growin' way over there,' he said, pointing to a distant hill, 'but ye can smell it from here.' […] Those middle holes were a lesson in resignation and simple sensing. No more ambitions for prodigious shots and scores, they seemed out of reach; just a decent modest game and enjoyment of the endless charms of Burningbush." (from Golf in the Kingdom)
With my newfound golf obsession made plainly, abundantly, irritatingly clear to my family over the months of November and December, my Christmas presents were foreordained. Customized golf accessories and memberships from my wife. New golf shoes and a quarter-zip from my parents and sister. A quarter-zip and hand warmers from my mother-in-law. An invitation to freely peruse and acquire unlimited selections from my father-in-law's library of golf books.
He pointed to a couple and recommended the ones that had had a significant impact on his understanding of the game, and I chose them, and more, to be shipped to DC from their home near Chicago. Ben Hogan, Arnold Palmer, Hank Haney, and more. But I also looked closely at a few of the non-instructional tomes. I saw Harvey Penick's Little Red Book, a classic book of golf wisdom I can perfectly recall sitting on my father's nightstand years ago. I saw a book from John Updike, a favorite American author of mine, and I saw a book of a thousand golf jokes and one-liners. But one random title stood out, with its letters drawn in a surprising neon pink-orange: Golf in the Kingdom, by Michael Murphy. Without having a single idea what it was about, I grabbed it to take back on the plane with me and started reading.
Golf in the Kingdom is a funny little book, focused on the spiritual elements of golf, with lessons stemming from the narrator's trip in the 1950s to a legendary Scottish course he affectionately refers to in the book as "Burningbush." A young philosophy student, Michael is on his way from Stanford to study in India, and uses his layover to play the legendary course. During his first round at Burningbush, Michael has the fortune of playing with the club pro, a mystical character of mythical proportion, Shivas Irons.
Through a series of Platonically idealized conversations, Shivas and his circle of philosopher-golfer friends guide Michael to see golf as more than just a game. They reveal it as a mystical pursuit that mirrors life itself, unveiling one's true character, and leading to deeper truths about existence through the search for "true gravity."
While the book discusses a level of spirituality I have yet to find in the game of golf, I do appreciate its desire to elevate the consciousness of the reader and transform a pursuit that can at turns be painfully infuriating and momentarily exhilarating into something deeper and more profound. Shivas's instruction helps to turn the ego-golf of Michael into something more meaningful by encouraging him to be honest with himself and to pay attention to his surroundings.
It was with this attitude—getting enjoyment from being outside, having the privilege to do as I please, and doing my best without beating myself up—that I played golf in the first week of the year.
I got out twice, on Friday, January 3 and on Saturday, January 4. On both days, I was pretty much alone as the weather was much too cold for a normal person to consider golfing.
Friday, I went down to the East Potomac Golf Links and played the White course; a "nine hole, par 34, executive course," with mostly par 4 holes and two par 3s. I'd played the White once before, on a rainy day right at the start of my golf journey and had a miserable time which included losing several balls, clipping tee shots with the toe of my club, and even playing the holes in the wrong order (there's an odd transition between holes five and six that I learned is improperly played by many on their first spin around the track). This day was different. I took my time thinking before striking, tried to enjoy the walk between balls, and found myself hitting it true more times than not. I still managed to bogey or double bogey most holes, but I did find some pars and managed to keep my three putts to a minimum.
After playing the White course, I played the empty Red course, a nine-hole par-three course. Playing the Red immediately after a trip around the White track was astounding. The truncated distance of the holes made my eyes pop and filled me with confidence to take full swings and find myself on, or just beyond, the green in one stroke more times than not. With the course empty, I played two balls and doubled my practice.
On Saturday, the temperature reached a high of only 34 degrees, but the public courses of DC stayed open. After initially planning to just hit the driving range, I decided that walking the course would be likely to keep me warmer anyway, so decided to play. I went to the historic Langston Golf Course, less than two miles from my home.
As I'm currently without a driver and a sand wedge (I otherwise have a relatively complete bag with a full set of irons, a pitching wedge, putter, 3 and 5 woods), I asked the guys at the clubhouse if there was a driver I could use. The gentleman at the counter passed me a dinged, though fully functional, club and I struck out on my own.
It was cold, but I was glad to be outside and to have the course almost entirely to myself; I shared it with several massive flocks of Canada Geese. They tended to settle in the sun upon the tee boxes, but politely scurried away when I approached to set up. Again I endeavored to keep a balanced mind, to play within myself, and have some fun with the borrowed driver. I had only one truly bad hole, the fourth, lovingly named "Helen Webb Harris" after the founder of the Wake Robin Golf Club, the first Black Women's club in the United States. On Ms. Harris's namesake I managed to three putt for three strokes over par. But I quickly put my dark thoughts behind me and hit my best drive of the day on the following "Joseph Bartholomew," the longest of the front-nine at 508 yards.
“I played the remaining holes in this state of grace. Specters of former attitudes passed through me, familiar curses and excuses, memories of old shots, all the flotsam and jetsam of my golfing unconscious—but a quiet field of energy held me and washed them away. I can think of no better way to say it—those final holes played me.” (from Golf in the Kingdom)
Beautifully written!