Writing about golf? I haven’t played golf since the ONLY time when I was 13-years old: 4 ½-hours to play nine holes and score 118! Needless to say, not my thing. However, I come from a family of golfers, some outstanding, some . . . not. I caddied for my father on vacations in Traverse City when I was just a young girl. Many, many Sundays were spent in my folks’ bedroom watching Arnold Palmer, Jack Nicholas, Tom Watson. So I have been enjoying Phil Mickelson since his early days. I remember the stigma of not winning a major, his Amy’s successful fight against breast cancer, leaving the 2013 U.S. Open—the one Grand Slam that had eluded him—to see his daughter speak at her eighth-grade graduation.
For these reasons, plus his willingness to reach out to devoted fans, unlike his arrogant playing partner in the final yesterday, I like thousands of others adore Phi Mickelson. A non-player who enjoys watching golf? I think it is a connection to happier times in my childhood. I dated a few golfers in my day, too: Walking around the course during club championships routing them on, fun memories.
The multitudes of spectators swarming the 18th fairway yesterday, behind and around Phil, will be a part of golf history forever. Sheer joy and excitement. I am surprised that none of the commentators suggested a part of the euphoria was a post-covid release. Finally, something to cheer for.
How fitting it was for Phil.
But here is the other thing. Phil at 50. He is accepting aging. He went within and made conscious choices to affect change in his life. Making changes in his life to prolong productivity. What a shining example. One of the themes in Rain Dodging is learning to accept inevitable aging, after having had a power that declines. In my case, my looks brought me power. I knew it. I used it. Shifting the paradigm takes inner work. I can relate. Take a lesson from Phil’s playbook.
