I was late coming to golf; 51 years old and told by more than one that it was too late. I didn’t want to do it, wasn’t interested in it at all. As a business owner I felt like I didn’t have time for the game, that it was too slow for me. I couldn’t imagine what golf had that could hold my attention.  But at the insistence of a trusted friend, I headed out to the driving range after work one day, during the hottest summer I can remember, for a Groupon lesson with a golf pro.

My friend said golf changes lives. I didn’t know that my life needed changing or that golf would set the stage for some of my most meaningful experiences. All of that was to come.

I’m the daughter of a preacher who has been a scratch golfer for 50 years. His left-handed, flat, baseball-style golf swing comes as easy as his actual baseball swing — a bit odd since he is right-handed in all else. We were a serious family. There wasn’t much room for anything besides God and responsibility. Of the three of us kids at home, I was voted least likely to succeed or ever go outside since I spent my childhood baking and studying classical piano.

On that first day, the golf pro smiled and patiently showed me how to hold the club. I’m a learner and a rules follower by nature so I did what he told me to do, practicing a few swings without a ball in sight.

When he finally produced a ball and told me to step up to the tee, I looked down and immediately understood why golf would change my life.

I realized the only way I was ever going to hit that ball was to disconnect my mind from everything else: my business, my failed relationships, my children, my aging parents, my fears, my pride, my loneliness.

I knew I was hooked when I headed out to the range the next day at 6 p.m. in 103 degree heat.

“Dad, I’m playing golf,” I announced that day.

“You’re what?”

“Let’s go to Europe.”

That’s about how it happened. Six months later my dad and I were planning a two-week trip to Europe when I discovered that next door in Scotland, there was a place called The Old Course. Having had only one season of golf lessons and still no knowledge of grip, aim or set-up, I did not understand the significance of The Old Course — the first golf course in the world, where the game was invented. But I knew people went to Scotland to golf so I thought hey, while we’re over there, let’s just run on up to Scotland and see what happens. I got tee times at a few other courses and figured that would be good enough.

It was not.

Taking an older parent to Europe by yourself isn’t a very easy thing to do. There is more to consider than you’d imagine: the fatigue, the food, the language, the coffee (it’s cappuccino or nothing here, Dad), the pace, his mobility and general health, the reality of being constantly on alert. He struggled to keep up, falling asleep all over Europe. His knee gave him trouble. The changes in eating and sleeping schedules wrecked havoc with his diabetes.

When we got to St. Andrews near the end of the trip, driving through heavy rain on the wrong side of the road, he perked up as if he’d taken the biggest hit of caffeine in the world. He wasn’t clear that we weren’t actually playing The Old Course. I was worn out, having considered more than once the possibility that I might take him home in a body bag.

We checked into a golfer’s hotel and headed out to find Hole #1 on The Old Course. It didn’t take long. It was 9:30 p.m., 38 degrees and pouring rain. But there was the hole, and there they were – golfers in rain slickers, casually swinging clubs while wind came off the North Sea at almost gale force.

In other words, it was a normal night in May in St. Andrews.

Dad was in awe. It was better than any religious experience either of us had ever had.

We didn’t have a tee time there not because I hadn’t tried, but because we started late. There were none available when I was booking the trip, but they hold half of their tee times and draw them in a lottery 48 hours ahead of time. We didn’t make that either, so our last resort was to approach the starter on the day of play, and beg. Which is what I decided I’d do the next morning after seeing the look on my dad’s face.

The next morning I rolled out of bed at 6 a.m., drove over to Hole #1 and asked somebody to point out the starter.

“The guy in the red jacket. Name’s Rod. Rhymes with God.”

I walked up to Rod, looked directly into his eyes and said, “Sir, I have brought my father here from the U.S. and I am wondering if there is any way we could play The Old Course today.”

And Rod said, “I believe there is. Can you come back about 1:00?”

He showed me the log and the two places where there were spots for two additional players.  He explained that he knew two of the players, that they were locals and if they weren’t working on anything specific, they might be open to us joining them.

Game on.

Dad slept for another hour at the hotel, and then we got busy. We shopped for warmer clothes, hit the driving range and the putting green, got some food and arrived at Hole #1 at the appointed time. There were hundreds of people there but not one other female golfer. I like those odds.

I was on the putting green focusing on the speed and just trying not to embarrass myself when I heard the voice of God, I mean Rod, behind me.

“Would you like to play golf?” he asked.

The next five minutes were a whirlwind as we paid for our round and discussed whether there was a caddie available or not — there wasn’t, since it was 2:10 p.m. and they’d all been out for hours. But just as they swiped my AMEX for payment, a guy named Ian walked around the corner and so my dad had a caddie.

You walk and carry on The Old Course.  

At Hole #1, with my three partners hitting from the longer tee and hundreds of people lining the hole, Rod turned to me and said:

“I hear you are a demon with the golf club.”

I said, “Right now I’m just scared.”

He met my eyes and said, “Nobody knows you’re here.”

So I stepped up to the tee, looked down at my ball, took a deep breath and hit that ball 225 yards down the fairway. Across the path, just to the left.

It was my best shot of the day and the only shot that mattered.

I looked back at Rod. He gave me one strong nod, turned and walked back to his starter’s house. My dad walked by me saying, “Great! Great!”

Everybody’s looking, but nobody knows you’re here.  

My life is bigger than I thought it would be when I was a kid. I’m a business owner with clients and friends all over the world. I know a lot of people and have great opportunities to connect and make a difference. I have two grown children and six grandchildren. I have 30 employees.  But the truth is that while often everybody is looking, nobody knows I’m here. Not the real me, the one struggling with decisions made and unmade.

I came to golf late, after failed marriages and a successful business had taken from me more than I should have allowed. I came to golf with a father who had been an icon to me for all of my life. And I found that he cheats on his golf score. He denies it to this day.

We discovered a different conversation. I found that we have more in common than the pain of our family.

I came to golf with a need for solitude and connection and mental discipline that was different from my daily pressures. Golf makes a difference in my life. There are golf analogies everywhere, which we have all heard, but what surprises me is the peace of mind and clarity I get just from having this game in my life. I’m learning to focus on one shot at a time, build a game slowly over hours, weeks, months and years. To grab 20 minutes to practice putting. That sometimes practicing is as good as playing. To celebrate progress rather than perfection.

I’m learning that great relationships build slowly over time, one interaction at a time. That 20 minutes of intense focus can build skills and solve problems. That practicing good habits enables a life of good choices. That life is about progress, not perfection.

I came to golf late, and I’ll leave it late — when I can no longer walk up to the tee and look down at the ball. Golf humbles me. Golf makes me proud. It feeds all of my need for neatness and order and structure and discipline and achievement and relaxation. I am never angry on the golf course. The worst shot of the day is better than no shot.

After struggling to walk through the crowds in Paris, my dad almost bounded across 18 holes that day. He played a great game. Though I missed my second shot and many others by more than a little bit, I knew golf had changed my life.  

As we stood on the bridge on 18, we wrapped our arms around each other and posed for the camera. My dad laughed and said, “I love you, Hannah. Great shot on #1.”

And so I knew that Rod was wrong. My old man knew I was there. He had known all along.