Whether it be infrequently, seldom, occasionally, or fairly regularly, we all hold onto the game because of that feeling. The first shot that came out of the center of the face at impact of the club I had in my hands occurred the first time I hit golf balls at the age of six. Full length club, leather grip, cold day in Boone, North Carolina – but that sensation gave the game a temporary grip on me until it eventually had a complete hold of me. I already loved every sport at that age, but none of them delivered that feeling. Decades later, the flushed shot still wins, and it’s not close.
Wherever you may be, this is our renewal. We share the Masters, warmer temperatures, and the pursuit of the game with a keenness that spring elicits. Our species doesn’t walk through our collective golf lives with ambiguity—we have clear ambitions. Places to play, people to beat, gear to buy, and scores to post. The TV show we watch weekly is the sport; we are the game. I have never been more or less inclined to read a golf history book, buy a new driver, or make plans for five rounds in three days because of the TV show. It’s golf’s shiny hood ornament, and it provides a substantial additive, but we are the engine. I do not discount the value that the best players provide to our collective ecosystem, but your relationship with the game is just that… yours.
I was recently asked to construct a journal that will be gifted to golfers. The intent of the journal is to give space beyond the scorecard. The card tells an antiseptic story—your score—and only you care about that number. Try to remember that when people ask you how you played, because they really don’t care. It’s an obligatory reflex akin to, “How are you?” and nobody wants any color beyond the response of fine, good, or great. Nobody cares what you shot. It’s the plain truth and try to remember that the next time you field the question. The questions I constructed for the journal are about reflection, and it’s personal. I’m more interested in what was the best view on the course, when were you most comfortable and most anxious, what was the shot you were most proud of, and who did you choose to invest your most precious commodity with that day? That commodity is time. If you care about the game, there are likely few things you invest more time into in your life than this game.
If there is anything I would encourage all of you to do in 2026 while you try to get the most out of your own game, it’s to get more OUT of the game. Look around at what this odd pursuit gives you – journeying to the Oregon coastline, the Sandhills of North Carolina, the Ozarks, or overseas to Scotland or Ireland. You are sharing your life with friends, seeing the country and the world, and viewing it from sublime settings all curated to make you content. I never spend a moment trying to explain to non-golfers what they are missing unless they ask.
My relationship with my dad was fortified and deepened through the game. My dearest friends in life carve out time for us to tether ourselves to each other for days at a time each year, and my love and appreciation for all of them has been amplified through the game. We don’t just share the game – in the process, we are sharing everything else in our lives during those days. There is no place I would rather be than seeing longer shadows, the contour of the ground coming to life as the light fades on an early summer evening, and the figures casting their own shadows are people I love – because it’s the time, not the score.