From College Benchings to Adulthood Pneumonia

Things I Wish I’d Known in College

I vividly remember sitting in a cart on the way out to starting hole 14B of a small junior college tournament during my third year in college thinking “I’m so far from the PGA Tour right now.”

I spent my first two years traveling to nearly every tournament. By my junior year, I was sitting at home for the postseason.

I knew my struggles were just golf struggles. It’s not like I was in trouble with the IRS or carrying a life-altering disease of some sort. But it was still a tough period for me, because I poured so much of myself into controlling a little white ball. But for a while, those little white balls had minds of their own.

In retrospect, the benching was entirely justified. Coach Priest made the right call. My 77 scoring average that year wasn’t cutting it. I had earned my spot on the bench through poor play. My game was in shambles—a complete melting pot of over-analysis and lack of direction. But even knowing that I had played my way out of the line-up, sitting at home while my teammates fought for postseason glory was a bitter pill to swallow.

To be fair, my poor play wasn’t from lack of effort. Quite the opposite—I worked tirelessly. My struggles stemmed from overthinking, taking advice that didn’t suit me, and failing to truly understand my own game. I’ll save the details for another post (and trust me, there’s plenty to unpack there). For now, just know this: I wasn’t slacking. I had big aspirations, and that’s why it hurt so deeply to miss out on playing postseason golf. In all honesty, I had gone to college in the United States with one main goal—making it to the PGA Tour. After a couple relatively successful years, my dream of professional golf seemed further out of reach than ever before.

There were a few times I grazed “rock bottom” during that junior year. One example was the “I’m so far from the PGA Tour right now”-moment.

There’s a funny story from that day as I caught lightning in a bottle and shot 29 on the front nine while one of my playing partners mistakenly referred to me as “Marcel” the entire day—but I’ll spare those details for another day.

The point is that golf was hard for a while and I was truly struggling with finding the right way forwards.

But, as it often does, life moved on. I found my game again for my final year. Due to the aftermath of all the rabbit-chasing I was doing during my junior year, my final year was inconsistent, but when I was on, I was better than ever. I was able to etch out a nice individual win at the Royal Oaks Collegiate, crack the top-200 in WAGR, and our team was having some really nice success.

A few years later, I had grown up—at least on paper. Professional golf didn’t pan out, but I found success in marriage, a steady paycheck, and, somehow, I learned how to pay bills. By sheer luck and grace, I stumbled into coaching—a career that fit me better than I could have imagined.

Coaching became my new love. I thrived, helping athletes achieve both individual and team success. I had passion and confidence in what I was doing. However, a different “hard” had emerged…

Like any proper adult in the early stages of life, I carried insecurities. Taxes? A total mystery. Buying a house? A nerve-wracking ordeal. Writing professional emails? An awkward dance of trial and error. Early adulthood is a time when you’re constantly faking it until you (hopefully) make it.

Still, those insecurities, while daunting, were manageable in hindsight. That phase of life was hard, sure, but it was also exciting—filled with firsts, growth, and the realization that most adults are winging it just like you are.

And then came kids.

Oh, you’ve heard the stories about raising children. How hard it is, how it changes your life, how you’ll never sleep again. Let me assure you, those stories undersell it. Raising children is hard in a way that can’t fully be explained until you’re in the thick of it. It’s the kind of hard where a 20-minute trip to the park requires the logistics of a small military operation. A sick baby at 2 a.m.? That’s when you find out what real exhaustion feels like.

But here’s the thing about the baby years: you know they’re going to be hard. People warn you, and you brace yourself. You get through it because you expect the challenge.

Now, I’ve reached the stage of life where things are supposed to get easier. I’m a “real” adult. I’ve filed enough tax returns to know where the deductions go, my kids are old enough to use words to tell me what they need, and I’ve even mastered the art of never running out of battery on my phone. Real adult stuff. This should be the smooth part, right?

Wrong.

This past week, I spent seven days with a fever. When I finally made it to the doctor, I learned I had mycoplasma pneumonia. Great. Just when I thought I’d finally balanced life—juggling work, coaching golf, kids’ activities, working out, and family time—it all came crashing down. I thought this stage of life would be a bit easier, and just when I had found my stride a bit, life humbled me.

Remember the part from earlier about wait till your babies get sick—that’s when you experience real hard? Well, I have to add to that sentiment, being sick yourself as a parent isn’t much better. Life doesn’t stop. You have to grind out the laundry, taking your kids to daycare, making food, cleaning up, and all the other tasks while your body is feverish, aching, and simply telling you to calm the f.. down.

And that’s the truth of it: life doesn’t get easier. It changes, sure. The challenges evolve. But the notion that there’s some plateau where everything clicks and the struggles vanish? That’s a fairy tale.

So what am I trying to tell you, aspiring elite golfer? That your hard is just not that hard and to suck it up? Not quite…

When I look back, the fallacy I fell into during my struggles in golf was to portray too much forward and look for relief on the horizon. I would have thoughts like “Well, if I can just get through this qualifying in fifth place, I can secure my spot on the team, and maybe glean some confidence from that.” Or: “I really look forward to coming home over the Summer and getting a new environment, that might kick-start my game again.”

I wasn’t really addressing the problems in my game, I was hoping for magic in turning the ship around. Don’t wait for life to get easier, because honestly, it won’t. Addressing the root causes of struggles (both in golf and life) is what truly leads to growth.

What feels hard feels hard for a reason. It means something to you.

Get to the root cause of why you’re struggling with your game at the moment. Don’t look for the magic pill, there simply is none. And equally as important, don’t look to the horizon for relief.

Time alone won’t solve your struggles—progress requires intention.

Best regards, a feverish dad trying to dress two kids.