10 years ago, the first blog I shared online was titled “The Problem with Being 20”. I’d say the chances of anyone who was reading then is still reading now are pretty slim, but anyone who might have loosely followed me for more than a year or two might well have noticed that my writing output now isn’t what it was then. I’m not really sure why that is. Maybe because I was in college and so writing was something I had to do pretty much every day. I do also think twitter has changed in more than just name, and that always felt to me like the place that connected my writing to whoever the community was that read it. Twitter somehow or other felt like a place where I could be me. Even when the mansplaining came and I was criticised for all kinds of things when I dared to point out a few home truths about gender pay disparity in the world of professional golf. Even though the anger always rose in me then, I never actually minded it that much – mainly because I always felt justified in any points I ever made. The only times I ever actually felt personally hurt were when people I respected criticised me. But I inevitably made some mistakes, whether in the language I used or the tone I failed to convey through an online medium, and maybe some of those people did too. Regardless of those mistakes, twitter was weirdly a place where I often felt understood, and my tweets and my writing often made me feel connected; both to the truest version of me and to other people. I still enjoy the golf community that’s there – the shared humour and understanding that is present when the golf world is connected by something is a great thing to be part of.
But I digress (one thing that will always remain constant in my writing) – Twitter and/or X’s pros and cons aren’t the reason I started writing this blog. I turned 30 last week and I was going to write a blog called “The Beauty of Being 30” as a nice ode to the first one I wrote 10 years ago. I half wrote it, but never really got to a conclusion, so it’s still stuck in the notes on my phone (along with shopping lists and putting games and quite possibly my actual professional career). In that first blog, I was discussing the weirdness of being stuck in a bracket where people judge you more off your age than your experience. More off your age than your mindset, more off your age than your maturity. To be perfectly honest, I was pretty wise in a lot of ways when I was 20. I had some scars that I still have now, and I had an intuitive sense that ‘experience’ wasn’t necessarily all it was cracked up to be. 10 years later, I think the words experience and scarring are potentially interchangeable when it comes to professional sport. The blog I started to write last week was trying to draw the conclusion that perhaps the beauty in getting older is that you learn which scars you need to pick at and which you can finally let heal. A week later, I’ve realised again that it doesn’t always matter what you know to be true – it’s still really f***ing hard to do.
The thing I’m obviously skipping over here is that experience can be a good thing too. The highs have felt higher than I ever dreamt they would. I’ve also opened myself up in ways that I didn’t think I could when I was 20. But for the purposes of my own professional golf career, things have got harder than I ever would have believed possible. I’m ok with that and I’m working through it, and I believe actually more than ever in what I’m capable of.
But that doesn’t make it any less hard. The reason I started writing this last week was because it being hard doesn’t make it less valuable. It doesn’t make me any less me than I was when I was 20. Being in the middle of a spell where tournament golf became more alien to me than not drinking coffee, or a legitimate sign of progress being cancelling my tee time 10 minutes prior rather than playing through anxiety, or trying to share a 50yd wide practice ground with another person being the most overwhelming thing I could think of… none of that makes what I’m experiencing any less relevant than whatever it was when I was 20.
Neither does Twitter being called X or whether or not anyone is still reading. Neither does not being the man or woman in the arena, if that’s not where you need to be. Your arena is the place where you push yourself; the place where you’re on the edge between failure and success. Sometimes that’s closing your eyes as you hole a four footer to win – not because you’re scared, but because you have the trust to know that’s exactly what you need to do. And sometimes it’s holding all your pieces together in front of cameras that you don’t deserve until you crumble in the space between scoring and leaving.
When I was 20, there were some things I was far more at ease with when it came to being me. I’m still trying to find a level of peace and satisfaction and confidence within myself now, 10 years later. But maybe the maturity now is in realising that’s exactly where I need to be looking – rather than assuming it is only in a future or past version of me that can never exist in the present.
Listen to your heart
Keep at it. The writing and the golf. Just for you ⚡️
Two words leaped out at me. Anxiety and overwhelming. My heart sank. I know what this looks like. It has been sitting across from me for months now. There are days when I can barely comprehend the way she says she is feeling. But know this. I love my daughter on the good days when she is winning the battle with her feelings of self- worth, and love her even more on the days which are hard days. And perhaps that’s the difference between winning and not winning.
Much love to you and to those who sit down next to you.
Golf isn’t a game to look for unwavering confidence, thus the allure of what you can’t have. Life, like golf is that way, for 500 years! I mean golf.