Networking- A golf story

I am a bumbling human who somehow ended up in a leadership role. You know, the kind of role where people network, dodge office politics like it’s a game of Minesweeper, and pretend they know how to swim in a sea of social interactions. It’s a miracle I’m not drowning in it all, honestly.

But here we are. I think I stumbled into this position because, in the name of “networking,” my inner extrovert came out like a wild animal at the water cooler, where I unleashed a torrent of awkward small talk that somehow culminated in me being invited to play golf.

Now, for context—I am a non-golfer. I don’t even own a set of clubs. The only thing I’m good at in a golf community is avoiding the water hazards and sand traps… by not participating. But I did choose to live here for the school district. Because priorities.

Fast forward through a series of carefully crafted, yet suspiciously convenient, excuses (Girl Scouts, out of town, hamster graduation—don’t ask), I got cornered by one of these well-meaning but terrifyingly persistent folks: “What?! We live in the same neighborhood! Let’s catch up on the green at seven!”

Wait. The green? Why is “catching up” happening at 7 AM? Who in their right mind is socializing on a golf course beforebreakfast? And more importantly, how do I sell my house and relocate to a neighborhood that doesn’t involve golf before sunrise?

So many questions. So little time.

Anyway, I dropped my kid off at summer camp, which was going smoothly until I got the dreaded text: “On the ninth hole.” I had a panic attack. The ninth hole? What is that? And then, “You can join us, or wait for the next round.”

The next round? Of what? Are we playing golf or participating in a desert survival challenge? It’s hot out. Are they hydrating?

I parked at my house, and in a moment of absolute genius, decided I would cut across the grass, find the magical “ninth hole” placard, make a grand entrance, and then casually strut back home to mentally recover from my life choices. I mean, it’s a golf course. How hard could it be?

I’m sure you can guess what happened next.

As I casually—okay, awkwardly—cut across the grass, I started to get strange looks. Apparently, in the golf community, walking across the grass in sneakers and a tank top is akin to trespassing with a neon sign that says, “I have no idea what I’m doing.”

I started to wonder if I could flag down one of those golf carts. Like, maybe they could just drive me to the hole. It’d be the most glamorous form of “leaving early” ever. But would they take Apple Pay? I was hot. I needed answers.

Eventually, I flagged down the least intimidating figure I could find—a kid, probably still in high school, carrying clubs and wearing a bib (he looked like he was about to enter a golf-themed reality show). I asked him where the ninth hole was. He looked me over: sweaty, disheveled, in a tank top, shorts, and sneakers… and probably with “HELP” written on my face.

Without missing a beat, he suggested I go to the clubhouse to cool off, and maybe reach out to my “party.” I was so grateful, I almost cried. He even gave me a ride to the clubhouse, like a sweet, sweaty golf Uber driver. The look on his face as I climbed in, though—it was like he’d just realized I wasn’t a lost golfer but an actual disaster in human form.

I finally made it to the clubhouse, where I cooled off with some ice water and tried to salvage what little dignity I had left by texting my group. I may have said I accidentally wandered to the neighboring golf course, and that we’d have to catch up next time.

So, that’s how I ended up in an Uber five minutes from my house, pretending I knew what the heck I was doing. Next time, I’m sticking to the water cooler… where it’s safer for everyone.

For My Dreamers

When someone moves with intention,
Speaks with clarity—
Beyond mere kindness,
Attuned to every need,
Receptive,
Responsive—

They sat me down, gently,
Eyes steady, voice soft:
“You are not too much.
You are just enough.
I see you.
I hear you.
You matter to me.”

And all I could say was,
“My intention was never to be heard by you.”

How do I break your heart
While trying to shelter the ones
Who love me best?

How do I walk away
From a dream I once cradled?
When did the dream
Begin to feel like a weight?

To my dreamers—
I entrust you this soul:
Tend to him gently,
In ways this hollow shell
No longer can.

How do your demons hold court?

Situation: sitting in a dark room. Status post a toxic co dependent relationship that you successfully dodged for almost two decades only to fold and learn the lessons you foresaw coming. In the process of trying to hold your atoms together, and not shatter… you turn introspective.

Focus inward: How does your trauma manifest? A therapist asked me that once. I quit therapy. But let us talk about it.

Do you feel guilty when you buy yourself something. After buying something new… do you “save” it for a rainy day… then when you convince yourself to wear it it has fallen apart from disuse?

Do you prefer to inherit broken in clothes and hold on to hand me downs due to sentiment?

Do you empathize with the villains in your story… identifying with their villain origin story instead of removing yourself from their blast radius. Finding ways to “fix it” instead of holding them accountable?

Do you forget your basic needs while focusing on others? Cannot remember your last meal but can recite a person’s sleep cycle.

A walking representation of imposter syndrome. Accuse yourself of failing upward?

Do you enter every relationship waiting for abandonment. Stay suspicious of motives and seem to always have that “aha” moment when the other party lives out your foreboding?

Do you spend your days identifying all the ways your reality could crumble and how it is your fault?

Do your overly invest in those you feel have been dealt an unfair hand because you wish someone would do the same for you?

Do you overextend yourself hoping that it will fill the gap in those you care for hoping it will soothe their demons while your demons run unchecked?

Do you regret caring? Regret overextending? Regret smothering others while hiding yourself leading to you sitting in the dark, wallowing in introspection even as you acknowledge all the trampling in the world will not stop the care you have for the chosen few whose demons, soothed your demons even for a spell, a season or a session?

Conclusion: Trauma shapes character, designs disguises and cloaks relationships. Enough trauma and the soul loses itself under all the weight of the debris that is your life.