More Sweet Spots

Marriage changes things.

When we were newlyweds, my husband, an avid golfer, would sneak out of bed long before dawn, begging off to the golf course, guaranteed to be the first one off the tee box—at day break.

“You sure you don’t want to come?” he’d whisper into the black, a question borne of obligation and routine; he wanted my blessing, but also knew my answer would release him to the greens until lunchtime. I was not a golfer. I grew up in a dance studio.

“There is nothing that could get me out of bed at this hour,” I’d grumble from under the covers. “I can’t imagine getting up this early to do anything—least of all play golf.”

“OK, then, I’ll see you later,” he’d breathe into my ear. Then a quick kiss and he was gone.

On these days, I’d routinely sleep until ten, lounge in my PJ’s, sip coffee, and peruse the morning paper for hours. I treasured my moments alone and did not begrudge him the time on the links. When he returned home, we’d resume our day together, with trips to Home Depot and lunches on the deck.

And then we had a baby—and even though my man was off to the golf course by five in the morning—I’d be up with the baby by six. Gone were my casual mornings of reading and leisure. By the time he returned from his outing, I was exhausted and ready to go back to bed. As soon as he walked in the door, I’d push our daughter into his arms, grumbling, and retreat to our room.

Even though I had started to take golf lessons over the first couple years of our marriage, I didn’t actually enjoy the game. I couldn’t seem to hit the ball on a regular basis and usually left the course more frustrated than when I arrived. Now, I was stuck in a nebulous place of envy and confusion: I didn’t want to play and yet, crazily, I did. (I hated getting up early, but I was up anyway—so why wouldn’t I play?)

After several months—and a pep-talk from my mom—I started to play the game on a more regular basis. Pete still stuck to his morning outings, but I was proactive to get out on my own. And we got a babysitter for outings together.

At first, playing golf with my husband presented its own set of problems. “Husband” and “Golf Coach” are not terms that should generally coexist. I expected to shoot par after playing for just a few months; Pete just wanted me make consistent contact. I was crabby; he patient and persistent…in an irritating know-it-all, golf-is-so-easy kind of a way.

“You want find the sweet spot,” he’d say.

“What the heck is the sweet spot?” I’d snap.

“It’s the part of the club face where you make the best contact.”

“How will I know if I find it?” I ask. “Even when I think I’m hitting it correctly, I shank the ball.”

I was a ball-whiffing, mistake-ridden, four-putt disaster queen.

Fast-forward ten years. Pete and I now have two daughters, ages eleven and six. I have made most every golf faux pas known to man (and woman)—including blowing my nose in my golf towel and performing a split leap on the putting green. I have also hit a hole-in-one and published a golf book for women, "From the Red Tees: Help, Hope, and Humor for Women on the Green."

I am still not a scratch golfer, far from it. But I am competent—and I enjoy the challenge the game provides. I also enjoy the fresh air, striving for the perfect drive, and the leisurely (I use that term loosely) time with my husband. Our lives are much more hectic—with busy careers and daughters in their own activities, so I appreciate and crave the time for just the two of us even more than I did as a newlywed.

Perhaps it is golf, more than marriage, that changes things.

Last year, we took a Palm Springs golf trip for our anniversary—in July. It was HOT and so we scheduled all our tee times early, extremely early. For five days in a row, we crawled out of bed in darkness, were off the tee box at daybreak, and poolside by noon. On the last day, we lay in the sun sipping margaritas, reminiscing about our round that morning.

“You played great today, honey,” my husband commented casually, reaching for my hand. “I had an awesome time with you.”

And then, finally, I knew: I had found the sweet spot.