Dear Younger Me (and honestly… Dear Mom and Dad),
I’m sitting here in my final semester, All-American on paper, degree almost finished, and for the first time in my life, I’m not sure what comes next.
If you had asked me at 12 years old what I wanted, I wouldn’t have hesitated.I was going to play on the PGA Tour. That was it. No backup plan. No doubt. Just a kid who loved being at the course until it got dark, hitting balls not because I had to—but because I couldn’t leave.
Somewhere along the way, though, it changed. Not all at once. Not dramatically. Just slowly. Golf stopped feeling like something I got to do, and started feeling like something I had to do.
Don’t get me wrong—I’ve had an incredible career. I’ve played in big events, traveled the country, represented my school, had teammates I’ll have for life. I’ve stood on the range next to guys I used to watch on TV. There are moments I’ll never forget.
But I feel like people don’t see the other side of it, and if they do, they don't understand it. The part where a bad round doesn’t just ruin your day—it ruins how you feel about yourself. The part where you start measuring your worth by your score on the course. The part where every conversation somehow circles back to golf… your swing, your results, your future.
And then there’s the pressure. Some of it comes from the outside—coaches, rankings, expectations. That’s part of it, and I’ve learned to deal with that.
But the hardest pressure?
It’s the kind that comes from the people you love the most. I know how much has been invested in me. The lessons. The travel. The tournaments. The time. The money. I don’t take any of that lightly—not even for a second. I’m incredibly grateful. I don't need reminded about it.
But if I’m being honest…sometimes that gratitude turns into guilt. Because when I have a bad week—or when I say I’m not sure if I want to keep playing—it’s not always met with understanding. It’s met with reminders.
Reminders of everything that’s been poured into this. And even if it’s not meant that way, it feels like I’m being told: “You can’t walk away from this. Look at everything we’ve done for you.”
And that’s where it gets heavy. Because now it’s not just about golf. Now it’s about not wanting to let anyone down. Not wanting to feel like I wasted something. Not wanting to be the guy who “could have made it” but didn’t.
So I keep going.Even when I’m tired.Even when I’m not sure I love it the same way I used to.
And that’s the part I don’t think enough people understand. The pressure doesn’t make you love the game more. It makes you afraid of it.
Afraid of failing.Afraid of disappointing people.Afraid that one bad stretch means you’re not who everyone thought you were.
There’s still a part of me—maybe the biggest part—that does want to play professionally.
But I want to do it because it’s my dream.Not because I feel like I owe it to someone.Not because I feel backed into it.Not because I’m trying to repay something that can’t be repaid.
I want to step onto that first tee knowing I chose it. Fully. Freely. Because I love the game. Not because I’m afraid to walk away.
If I do go play at the next level, I want it to come from a place of clarity—not pressure. And if I decide not to, I need to know that’s okay too. That I’m still enough to my family and friends.
That everything that’s been invested in me wasn’t just about creating a golfer—but about helping me become a person. Because at the end of the day, that’s what I’m trying to figure out right now. Not just what I’m going to do next…but who I am without all of this.
I don’t have the answer yet.
But I do know this: The game has given me a lot. I just don’t want to lose myself trying to give everything back to it.
--A Senior, trying to figure it out.