So, Seaoaks Golf Club, right? Funny story how I even ended up there. Wasn’t like I woke up one day and thought, ‘Yep, golf is my calling!’ Nah, nothing like that. Work had been piling up, you know, the usual grind. My doctor kept saying, ‘You need to find something to de-stress, get some fresh air.’ Easier said than done, mate.
I tried jogging. Lasted a week. My knees screamed bloody murder. Then someone mentioned golf. Said it was a ‘gentleman’s game,’ relaxing. ‘Relaxing,’ I thought. ‘Might as well give it a shot.’ Seaoaks was the closest one, looked decent enough from the pictures I saw. So, one Saturday, I just… went.
Walked in there feeling like a fish out of water, I tell ya. Everyone looked like they knew exactly what they were doing. All the gear, the fancy talk. And there I was, with a borrowed set of clubs that looked like they’d seen better days, probably around the time dinosaurs roamed the earth. My first practice? Just getting through the door without turning tail and running.
I’d booked a spot at the driving range. Figured that was safe enough. Couldn’t embarrass myself too much just hitting balls into a field, right? Wrong. Oh, so wrong. The first few swings, I think the ball was safer than the grass around it. Missed it clean a few times. Then I topped one, sent it dribbling about ten feet. The guy next to me, bless his cotton socks, tried not to laugh. I could see it in his eyes though.
My Real Takeaway
So, what was the actual ‘practice’ I got out of Seaoaks? Well, it wasn’t about becoming a scratch golfer, that’s for sure. My handicap is still probably ‘don’t stand too close when I swing’. The real practice, for me, was just showing up. It was about carving out that little bit of time for myself, away from everything else. It became a practice of patience, mostly with myself.
And you know what? I started to notice things. Not just how badly I hit the ball. I’d see the older chaps, regulars, just enjoying the air, the chat. Some weren’t much better than me, but they were out there. It wasn’t always about the perfect shot. Sometimes it was just about the walk, or the quiet, or the shared groan when a shot went sideways.
- Learning to laugh at myself. That was a big one.
- Finding a bit of peace, even if my golf game was chaotic.
- Just the act of trying something new, even when it felt awkward.
I still go to Seaoaks now and then. Not as often as I probably should if I actually wanted to improve my golf. But that’s not really the point anymore, is it? I found my own little routine. Head to a quieter part of the range, try not to dig up too much turf. Sometimes I just grab a coffee at the clubhouse and watch the world go by. It’s my kind of practice, I suppose. Not very conventional, maybe not what the pros would recommend. But it works for me. It’s less about the golf and more about, well, just being there, giving my brain a rest. And that, my friends, is a practice worth keeping, I reckon.
