Well, it took one week. That’s all. But I get it now.
Call me a slow learner, call me stubborn, but I’ve got it now.
It took one trip to Morocco for the first event, and MAN did I feel lost.
I’ve been practicing like crazy trying to make sure I got off to a fast start. Been thinking nonstop about my golf game and making sure my swing was airtight before I made my way over, and my putting stroke was dialed in as well. I wish I had been preparing for how uncomfortable I’d be feeling traveling solo for the first time in a hot minute, and trying to get comfortable enough so I could focus on golf, but it never really came. Everything felt off, and the golf felt like an afterthought.
I saw girls on the tour all hanging out together and I wanted nothing more than to walk over, sit down, and just say, “Can I be your friend, because I feel so damn alone?”
HA.
Then I realized they didn’t speak English, so that could’ve been tough.
I started working with Samantha and Steve mainly because I figured, what could it hurt? The word “identity” kept coming up, and I wasn’t entirely sure what that meant in golfing terms. Again, I was so focused on the golf that I figured it would start to make sense down the road. I now know exactly what they were talking about, because it seems real easy to not only lose sight of yourself, but everyone at home never seemed so far away.
A missed cut always sucks, but I’m actually not mad about this one. I feel like I learned 100 times more about golf, and the lifestyle that comes with it, than I ever did in a local amateur or college event. My college coach keeps telling me that it’s a learning process out here, and I’ve got to agree. Because honestly, the golf wasn’t the thing that shocked me.
The golf course still had 18 holes. The ball was still sitting there. My swing was still my swing. My routine was still my routine.
What changed was everything around it.
The airport. The bags. The rental car. The hotel. The currency. The food. The language. The quiet room at night. The FaceTimes home where everyone says, “This is so exciting,” and you smile because it is exciting, but you’re also sitting there thinking, “I don’t even know where to do laundry.”
Nobody really prepares you for that part. Nobody tells you that turning pro can feel like your dream came true and your safety net disappeared at the exact same time.
You’re the player, the travel agent, the accountant, the nutritionist, the scheduler, the baggage handler, the decision-maker, and somehow still supposed to wake up Thursday morning feeling loose and free and ready to fire at flags. That part hit me hard. I kept thinking, “Why am I so tired? I barely did anything.” But I had done a lot. I had just done all the stuff that doesn’t show up on a scorecard.
I had tried to act like I knew what I was doing when I didn’t. I had tried to look confident when I felt like a little kid. I had tried to convince myself that because I finally made it here, I wasn’t allowed to struggle with being here. And that’s probably the biggest thing I learned. You can be grateful and overwhelmed at the same time. You can be living your dream and still feel lonely. That doesn’t mean you’re weak. It means you’re human.
I think I used to believe professional golfers were just tougher versions of normal golfers. Like once you got to this level, you were supposed to be built differently. More disciplined. More mature. Less emotional. Less needy.
But one week in, I’m starting to think the best players aren’t the ones who pretend they don’t need anything. They’re the ones who know what they need before things spiral. They ask questions. They travel with people. They find routines. They call home. They talk to someone when they feel off. They don’t wait until they’re completely cooked to admit something feels heavy.
That’s where the identity piece is starting to make sense to me. If I’m a person learning how to live this life, then this week mattered.
I learned that I need people. I learned that I need a plan. I learned that practicing six hours doesn’t help much if I feel like I’m carrying a backpack full of stress to the first tee. I learned that I can’t just prepare my swing for professional golf. I have to prepare myself. And I learned that missing a cut doesn’t have to mean losing confidence. Sometimes it just means you found the next thing you need to get better at.
So, yes, I missed the cut.
But I also made it through my first week.
I figured out where to go. I got myself to the course. I played scared, then I played a little freer. I cried once, almost cried twice, laughed at myself more than I expected, and learned that taking a deep breath works pretty well sometimes.
Next week, I’ll be better. Not because I found some magical swing thought. Because I know a little more about what this life asks of me. And maybe that’s the point. Professional golf isn’t just about proving you’re good enough. It’s about learning how to build a life that lets your best golf show up.
I’m still new. I’m still figuring it out. I’m still probably going to overpack, get lost, call my mom too much, and pretend I understand things when I absolutely do not.
And I'm fine with that. At least it's me being me.