Somewhere between flushing a seven-iron so clean it popped like a champagne cork at a shotgun wedding and ordering a hot dog slathered in condiments that could double as a Jackson Pollock painting, I decided I was going to write about this thing called golf.

No instruction manuals. I just wanted to write about what it feels like to be a bewildered mammal with a club in your hand: wresting with your body, your mind, and the cosmic absurdity of chasing a dimpled ball across manicured grass.

Golf is not just a sport. It’s a mirror that doesn’t lie, a religion without pews, a three-ring circus where you’re the clown, the lion tamer, and the guy sweeping up after the elephants. And coaching? Coaching is equal parts research scientist, philosopher, shamanism, and stand-up comedy. People hire me to help them embody their swing, yes but also to help them move through life.

My players come for the swing changes, but they leave with some glimmer of permission: to be less hard on themselves, to practice differently, to see the game as something bigger than scorecards.

So why start this? Because there are still corners of golf nobody touches. The embarrassing questions and the existential ones. The ones that sound like riddles and locker-room chatter. I want to be honest and curious about those.

Questions like: What does it mean to “be the ball?” And not just in a Chevy Chase way. Why does practicing sometimes feel like a silent sermon? Why we find most training aids the speed dating of golf— exciting in theory, fleeting in practice? And why is asking someone to make a foursome somehow scarier than proposing marriage?

I don’t want this Substack to be another golf tips column. I want it to be a conversation, a salon, a clubhouse without dress code, where ideas bounce around like errant shots off a cart path. Where we can talk about Ram Dass and three-foot putts in the same breath. Where biomechanics can rub shoulders with Human Design charts. Where stories matter as much as swing planes.

I write this as a coach but also as a forever student. A daughter of the game, someone who grew up in the church of fairways and ponds and who now wants to ask: what else is golf trying to teach us?

Because golf is always about more than golf. It’s about presence, obsession, release, and the holy foolishness of showing up again tomorrow after today’s round made you feel like you’d been mugged by a squirrel.

Park your metaphorical golf cart over, order the hot dog and Arnold Palmer. Here you’ll find stories, rants, essays, maybe even a love letter or two to this maddening, magical game.