When the mind is quiet it is inclined to drift to the things that matter most. Those things are our people. The ones we love, the ones we’ve lost, the ones we choose to spend the most precious thing on…time. In September of 1995 I traveled to Scotland for the first time and did so with my dad. We returned in July of 2002, and on both occasions, we had the Muirfield day. Returning there again for the first time in 22 years with three dear friends in a head space with clarity and comfort made the conditions right for reflection and acceptance. Not your typical round of golf but rather an examination on the human condition.
In a world that has gone casual, having a day at the gathering place for the Honorable Company of Edinburgh Golfers has become golf’s most refined and glutinous costume party. The tie has died but at Muirfield neckwear is not only fashionable, it’s required. Truth is, we all clean up pretty nicely we just don’t do it much anymore. Fleece is the new cashmere and hoodies are today’s double-breasted blazers. Rarely would you ever think a room ensconced in tweed would be a cool room and maybe it only is because we are at the best defacto “golf gala”. Seeing the giddiness on the faces of dozens of men coming off the 18th green at Muirfield knowing they are showering and putting on a coat and tie happily is counter intuitive to the way we sashay through life now. One of the top items sold in many of the finest golf clubs in America are logoed sweatpants. Sweatpants! Not your dad’s thick sweats from the local sporting goods store, but sweats, nonetheless. A spectacular item as I’m a card-carrying wearer of the soft bottoms.
At Muirfield you’re obligated to show a little respect. Respect for the place, for each other and for yourself. Among the other particulars of the Muirfield day is the requirement to play alternate shot in the afternoon after imbibing and ingesting enough food and drink to make a nap the most normal thing to do. That format gave me a cathartic moment in September of 1995, seeing my partner, my dad, hitting our tee shot on the 8th hole with his silhouette painted against the Firth of Forth in the background. Standing 200 yards down the fairway I felt a sense of love and appreciation for the man who raised me, guided me, and championed me without condition or reservation my entire life. Being present with clarity and good intentions has allowed me to achieve something altogether lost while in the throes of alcoholism. Stillness. The still mind creates the full heart and being back at Muirfield with friends who have known me since I was a teenage freshman at Vanderbilt was humbling.
The clockwise outward nine direction at Muirfield takes you from the northwestern portion of the property riding along the dunes recessed from the shoreline 
of the firth. From there, you play on the interior of the property in the counterclockwise direction meandering through the native fescues and re-vetted faced bunkers. Our Muirfield day was breezy and by late afternoon the low clouds were breaking away and the light on the golf course was illuminating the ground into a high-definition landscape. The shades of tan, brown, and green of the fescues and gorse offset by the churn of the blue and white of the distant sea created a transient texture. I never once consciously reminded myself of moments at Muirfield with Dad, it was simply happening. It was a flow state of gratitude and introspection and coupled with the continuous reaction of Lawrence, Bill, and Jay to the reveal of each hole was the summit of what the game can give. A trip to Scotland gives you an appreciation of each place, it’s history and the respect for certain traditions. It provides endearing fellowship, a little edge of a competition and a togetherness that comes from the pilgrimage to simple be there. In what area of your life do you devote countless hours to be in the company of others by your own choice? Not just the hours being on the golf course but every waking hour eating, talking, and laughing. I fell in love with golf because of my dad and the time afforded and it was seminal moments at places like Muirfield that reinforced my affection for the game. To return there with men who I’m exceedingly proud of for their boundless successes, starting with their families, and to share an appreciation for pictures on the walls, the carving stations at the lunch buffet, the clearing bell on the 11th hole, and the grand gathering room for a libation to cap the day.
I understand why people play favorites. It’s only natural to build proclivities for people and places and it’s why we choose to spend time with certain people and at certain places. For years I’ve resisted declaring which is my favorite golf course. I was never doing it to be cute or unwilling to make the declaration because it served any purpose. However, not long after we finished our round last Tuesday at Muirfield and we were gathering our belongings to head out into an increasingly colder Scottish evening I said to my guys, “this is my favorite course in the world”. The reasons are personal beyond the majesty of the holes, but isn’t our relationship with the game personal?
