A Sunny Morning and a Singular Mantra

I parked my bag beneath a lone tree—its shade a small mercy against the bright, dry California sun—and strode toward the first tee at Mountain Meadows, collar already damp with sweat. My pulse pounded like a drum: part exhilaration, part dread.

Today was my first tournament—and that familiar underdog whisper crept in, the same one I’d heard stepping off the plane as a new immigrant: “What are you doing here?”

I silenced it with my mantra: “Data, not drama.” No beating myself up, no wasted energy. Every shot—good or bad—would simply be information. Was the ball in play? Where did it land? What would I learn? And if I wasn’t at least 70% certain of my next move, I’d choose a different club.

When Ball Meets Blind Green

On hole 12, I unleashed a drive that split the fairway—center, perfect—with the satisfying whack of sweet contact. Seizing momentum, I dialed in a 7-iron from 160 yards to an elevated green rimmed by trees. I tracked its flight the whole way, imagining the ball sitting on the slope. But when we arrived, it had vanished.

Three minutes of wasted searching later, I faced reality: I’d lost it—blind. So I took the walk of shame back to the 170-yard marker for my fourth shot, holding up the group behind me. Frustration threatened, but I reminded myself: this is data, not drama. Unfair? Absolutely. But life’s most valuable lessons often arrive unexpectedly, hidden just off the beaten path.

The Tree-Slice Par

Four holes on, I sliced my tee shot so far right it headed for the woods. I held my breath—until it thwacked a tree, ricocheting back into the rough. That stroke of luck felt like a lucky bounce. I punched a low, controlled 6-iron back to the fairway, then executed a picture-perfect 100-yard wedge that nestled twelve feet from the pin. With a confident stroke, I putted it for par.

It was a “great par,” but let’s be honest: it wasn’t earned by pure skill alone. Sometimes life props you up when you least expect it. That moment reminded me that good things can be as undeserved as the setbacks—and both are equally instructive.

From Fairway Lessons to Life

Stepping onto the tee felt like every challenge I’d ever taken on—hands trembling, butterflies swirling in my stomach—but walking back was never an option. My motto since I was a teenager: “Go. And if you’re afraid, Go Afraid.” I felt the nerves, but I didn’t pause; I simply went. Today, my goal wasn’t a low score—it was to finish the round under 100 and stick to my plan. Every misplaced ball, every miraculous save, every par gained by chance was feedback—hard data to refine my next strategy.

In business, a campaign might flop without warning, or a handshake deal might materialize from thin air. Neither success nor failure is inherently “fair”; they’re signals. Your job is to gather them, analyze them, and choose your next move with intention.

Closing the Loop

As I walked off the 18th green, sweat cooling on my brow, I felt something deeper than triumph: relief. I had finished the round—ghosts faced, fear laid bare. The scorecard showed 20 over!, but that mattered less than knowing I’d seen it through, no matter what anyone else thought. That final flag wasn’t about rank; it was proof I could finish what I started.

I zipped up my bag and glanced back at the teeing ground where this experiment began. The sun still blazed overhead—but so had my confidence. Here’s to the next tournament, the next client pitch, the next unexpected bounce. Whatever it brings, I’ll treat it all as data, never drama—one shot at a time.