“Ball Markers”

If you peek into the side pocket of my golf bag on any given day, you won’t just find standard tees and a sleeve of balls.

You’ll find an eclectic, clinking collection of metal and plastic: a heavy copper ball marker from a hidden-gem public course in South Dakota, a stamped-logo coin from Alaska, and a mismatched golf towel that has seen better days.

When we first started this adventure to golf in all 50 states, I used to think about the “swag”.

I thought about the big souvenirs, the personalized golf balls and club head covers, and the pristine scorecards.

But as we’ve rolled down the highways, traveling from coastal fairways to remote mountain greens, my perspective has shifted.

The “stuff” has gotten smaller, but the meaning has gotten much bigger.

Having less literal weight in my life has truly created more room for the memories that matter.

Take the humble ball marker, for instance.

It’s a little artificial object, designed simply to mark my spot on the green.

On the surface, it is merely a small thingamajig meant to keep the green clear for Marc and other players in my foursome.

But to me, it marks my precise place in the world today – a symbol of how far I have truly come in my mastery of the game, my personal journey, and, if I were going to be truly honest – my life.

To a recreational golfer like me, a ball marker is also a tiny time capsule.

Every time I reach into my pocket on the green and pull out that little token from a municipal course we found at the end of a long dirt road, I’m not just thinking about my next putt.

I am reminded of the crisp morning air in Wyoming, the local players who gave us tips on the clubhouse porch, and the pure joy of just being outside together.

We don’t need the most expensive gear or elite country club tags to belong to this game.

Golf doesn’t care about the grandeur of my collection.

It relies on me to face the unpredictable with a calm mind….

….to enjoy the walk….

….to appreciate the small tokens of the places we’ve been….

….and the friends we’ve made along the way.

Those little metal trinkets are proof that while my shots might occasionally go wildly into the rough, the walk itself is always beautiful.

My Reads from the Reds – The smallest tokens often carry the heaviest memories; you don’t need a heavier bag to live a fuller life.

Fairways and Greens – We are 18 Holes and Counting.

Written by Kathy Festa