A Good Walk, Spoiled

“Golf is a good walk spoiled.”

— Mark Twain

I’ve always liked that line.

Over the last 33 years, I’ve spoiled a lot of good walks — in 48 states, and counting — and I wouldn’t trade a single one of them.

During that same stretch of time, I married the love of my life and we brought four wonderful kids into the world. Somewhere between tee times and travel days, life kept happening. Careers were built. A family was raised. Time passed, as it always does.

There were an unknown number of pairs of golf shoes, more sets of irons than I can remember, and at least a few perfect putters — followed, inevitably, by their replacements. There was always a driver that promised to fix my slice… and then another that would surely fix my hook.

Some walks were spoiled alone, some with friends, and many with my kids. Along the way were conversations you don’t plan for — the kind that happen naturally between shots, while walking to the next tee. Talks about school, work, faith, doubts, victories, disappointments, and the small things that matter more than you realize at the time.

We’ve walked fairways through deserts and mountains, along oceans and through forests. Each place different. Each walk its own story.

Golf, for me, has never really been about scorecards. It’s been about time — time moving forward, time spent together, time noticing where you are and who you’re with. The game gives you four hours to talk, to listen, to think, and occasionally to laugh at yourself.

The walks will keep coming. So will the people. And thankfully, all four of my kids are now productive members of society — each fully capable of swinging a club and spoiling a good walk of their own.