phrases such as “in the zone,” “in the moment,” and “dialed in” to describe the experience. These descriptions are accurate, but they don’t tell the whole story.
I’ve spent more than a decade trying to uncover and elucidate the mysteries of flow in golf. This quest took me down unpredictable paths, led me to ask unanticipated questions, and ultimately revealed insights that delighted me and that I hope will also delight you as you learn about them by reading this book.
One fascinating but powerful finding that I uncovered was that golfers usually describe their flow states using seemingly contradictory, or paradoxical, expressions. They report experiencing time moving slowly but the actual event seeming to end rather quickly, gaining control by giving up control, making an effortless effort, and being aware of everything around them while being completely focused on their task!
These paradoxes both define and explain the flow experience in golf, and understanding them is essential to engaging the frame of mind needed to energize flow. Because the main purpose of this book is to improve your golf game by teaching you how to get into flow more frequently, I’ll take you through each of the paradoxes. Understanding what flow is and how it works will prepare you to attain it more easily and frequently.
Chapter 1
Time
You are alone on the golf course late in the day. The sun is beginning to duck behind tall trees, the shadows are growing long across the fairways and greens, the air is becoming more still and a little cooler, and you are walking from one shot to the next with the easygoing, casual air of a person without a care in the world. There is calmness in your mind and vagueness about your awareness. You are paying attention to your game but giving it no more thought than the attention that you’re paying to a breeze, a bird that flies by, or a squirrel that trots across your path. Without much thought, you gaze down the fairway and hit the shot that you were picturing. For the next shot, without a yardage book or any technical thoughts, you aim and hit the shot toward your target. It comes off with perfection, leaving you with a feeling of mild satisfaction as you put the club back in the bag and continue your shuffle down the fairway, toward the green and the forthcoming 8-footer you have for birdie. You hit the putt, and off the putter face it feels different in your hands. Pure. Soft. Happy. Without looking, you immediately know that the putt was good, that it will be going in the hole.
As the round goes on, you hit one good shot after another, and you react with softness as if you are buffered from anything bad happening to you. You move with smooth, rhythmic movements. If the ball doesn’t go where you expect it to, you don’t complain or get angry. You simply put your club back in your bag, walk down the fairway taking in the totality of the experience, and hit your next shot. Your chipping is crisp. Your touch on the greens is perfect. And your mind is quiet. If you were describing yourself as a piano, you would describe yourself as perfectly tuned. Before you know it, you’re walking off the ninth green, and you realize that you haven’t made a single bogey, that you’ve just shot your lowest nine-hole score ever, and that along the way, you’d lost track of your score. Your last realization is that you are also late for dinner because you’d also lost track of time.
Does that sound familiar? I’ve heard assorted versions of that story from countless golfers over the years. They begin a round of golf with no expectations of shooting a score or playing a particular way. They are on the golf course simply to enjoy the process of playing. To a degree, they mentally check out, and before they know it they are enjoying their afternoon, immersed in their round of golf. They are lost in the moment, lost in the task or experience, oblivious to the pressure associated with passing time. In
J. Aislynn d' Merricksson