Never Take Golf Lessons From Your Spouse

“You’re topping it.” Ken said.

I scowled at him as I watched the little white golf ball dribble off the tee and roll a few feet away. I trudged over to stand on the cart path while Ken took his shot. This wasn’t nearly as much fun as I had imagined.

Ken had spent months convincing me to give golf a go. At first, I resisted.  “You’ll get some fresh air. It’s great exercise. And we can spend time together outside.” Ken argued.

I finally agreed. But at that moment, I was regretting it. There I was on a hot August afternoon lugging a golf bag and chasing a golf ball across a dried out cow patch. We were on the third hole. I was hot and cranky.

Ken teed off.  I watched his shot sail several hundred yards down the fairway. It thunked on the ground and continued rolling.  Ken sauntered over to me.  He was obviously proud of his drive.  I wasn't impressed.

“When does the fun start?” I asked.

Ken shrugged. “You’ll get it.” He didn’t sound like he meant it.

I stepped up to my second shot of the hole, my forty-fifth so far for the round. I swung. The ball rolled a few feet away.

“You’re topping it,” Ken said. Again.

I turned and glared at him. My blood was boiling. “If you tell me I topped the ball one more time I’m going to shove this golf club up your sand trap.”

“What the [censored] is your problem? I’m just trying to be helpful.”

“Well, you’re not helping” I screamed. I threw my club on the ground and stormed off the golf course. Ken mumbled something under his breath, picked up both of our bags and followed me back to the car.

“I thought you wanted me to teach you to golf.” He yelled when we reached the car.

“How is telling me I topped the ball a thousand times teaching. All you’re doing is stating the obvious. It’s not helpful.”

“Well, what do you want from me?” He asked.

“Stopped telling me what I’m doing wrong. Tell me how to do it right.”

Ken paused. Then said, “Let’s try again.”

We walked over to the driving range. Ken stood behind me as I nicked several balls. I watched each shot roll about ten feet away. Pathetic, I thought,

After a few minutes Ken spoke. “Two things. First, your club is too long for you. Try this one.” Ken took a smaller club from his bag and handed it to me.

“And, you’re standing too far in front of the ball. You need to put your feet here and here.” He pointed to the ground with his club,

I stepped in place again, this time with the smaller club. I arranged my feet where Ken showed me. I swung. Now, instead of piddling off the tee, the ball soared through the air and landed fifty yards away.

“Much better.” Ken said. I smiled. This was much better.

The experience of my first golf lesson has stuck with me for over fifteen years. I think it’s because of the important life lessons I learned that day. So how about I share them with you now?

The first lesson was to focus on how to do right instead of what’s going wrong. When something isn’t working, whether it’s a golf game, a job, a relationship, it’s easy to identify the thing that is wrong.

But knowing what’s wrong isn’t the solution to the problem. Focusing on what’s wrong won’t help you improve. To get better, to do better, to be better means you need to focus on doing the right things.

This is true for golf. Knowing I was topping the ball, and believe me I knew that, was fine. But Ken wasn’t telling me anything I didn’t know. And it wasn’t helping me get better. When Ken stopped telling me what I was doing wrong and helped me focus on doing the right things, I got better.

This can apply in other situations. Let’s say, hypothetically, there was an almost eight year old boy who was leaving hundreds of Pokémon cards strewn about his room. Let's call him Eric.  Telling this hypothetical Eric-child that his room is a mess – a fact that is obvious even to a seven year old – isn’t very helpful. But helping him find better ways to keep his room clean can be immensely productive. And it will be less stressful for everyone involved.

The second lesson I learned that day was to ask for what you want or need. When we walked onto the golf course, I never told Ken what I needed. So he did what anyone would do, he guessed. He guessed wrong. Later, when I finally told him what I needed, he was able to offer me some real assistance.

I’ve tried to keep this in mind elsewhere. Maybe I’ve had a tough day and the kids are driving me nuts. “I need some quiet time.” I’ll say before locking myself in my room for a half hour.

Or maybe I have a project at work that I’m not sure about. “Do you think you can help me understand this?” I’ll ask a coworker.

Waiting around for someone to figure out what you need is a waste of everyone’s time. Cut to the chase and say what you need.

The final, and most important, lesson I learned that day was this: Never take golf lessons from your spouse. Your marriage may depend on it.