It’s been a special week here.
The children are off from school for a two-week fall break (yes, TWO WEEKS!) and the grandparents are in town so we decided to change up the scenery and take refuge in Palm Desert.
It’s been delightful – the downtime, the new and different activities and the family come-togetherness that ensues when the routine of daily living gets left behind.
On Tuesday, five of us set out to play golf, including my littles.
They take weekly golf lessons while Alex and I play VERY occasionally. Since having children, I’ve played less than 6 times but used to play fairly regularly through my teens and twenties.
Admittedly, the children are impressive golfers. Last spring, we played our first family foursome and their skill and ability blew me away.
So when we decided to come back to the desert, their excite-o-meter skyrocketed to hear we’d be playing golf again.
The start was slow. The driving range was closed making the first few holes the warm-up.
Somewhere around the fourth hole, they encouraged me to try teeing off with a new driver.
Their grandmother had rented clubs and was using a state-of-the-art set while I was using my clubs from the last century (yes, they’re that old). I simply cannot rationalize getting new clubs for a game I play maybe once a year.
Let me tell you, the club made a difference. I whacked the ball straight down the middle of the fairway and everyone gasped in awe. Shock, too. It was the drive of the day.
And then I did it again, and again and strung together some decent fairway shots (while still using my old clubs) and even managed to par a hole (which hasn’t happened since the turn of the century, no joke).
And with each shot, the children were amazed. They couldn’t believe their mother was making these shots.
To which I explained my history with golf, the lessons, the practice, the years of playing.
This isn’t a boast fest. Quite the opposite.
We’ve all lived lifetimes before where we are today. We’ve had experiences our loved ones know nothing about. And we’ve all been a bada$$ at one time or another.
Own that. Show your children or your friends or your significant other what you can do on the courts or course, over a game of Scrabble or with a set of watercolors.
Strut your stuff. You worked for it. And you deserve to relish in that bada$$-ness.
Feel like you’re showing off? Quite the contrary, you’re modeling for others how to gracefully show up and own your magic while honoring yourself in the process.
And between us, it feels so darn good!
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