I remember storming off a golf course 30 years ago in a way the Tasmanian Devil would’ve said, “Yikes, get a grip, pal.” I was convinced I was the worst golfer who had ever played the game, with no clue how to do a single thing with a golf club — except break it in two.
After playing well for two straight days, which put me within reach of the tournament leaders (those days are long gone for me, by the way), I had gone completely in the other direction that Saturday. I was disgusted. I was embarrassed. I was so bad I think I lost a ball in a ball washer.
After a few minutes, one of my playing partners that day sat down across from me. Tony Elieff Sr. had been a good golfer for many years, and was a man everyone loved and respected. He sat down, pulled up his cap, and looked at me the way Mr. C. always looked at Ritchie on “Happy Days.”
In other words, “Listen carefully, son.”
“Jeff, I don’t think when you showed up today you expected to hit every shot perfectly, right?” he asked. “So when you three-putted on number four, I don’t know why you got so down on yourself. I could see it right away. And you let yourself stay in a funk the rest of the round.”
“Tony, I really try hard to play my best,” I said. “I see Tal and Rob and John and all those other guys 72, 73, 74 all the time,” I said. “Everything they do is so effortless. I want to be like all of them.”
“I get that. Everybody admires those guys,” he said. “But I guarantee you they’d say they’ve never had a perfect round of golf, where they hit every shot exactly the way they wanted.”
“Well, they don’t do as many stupid things as I do,” I said.
“Nobody does as many stupid things as you do.” Nah, he didn’t say that.
But Tony did say this: “The point is, Jeff, they make their mistakes. They get frustrated. And they get mad. But they just don’t let their mistakes get the best of them and ruin the rest of their round.”
His message was clear: strive for excellence, but not perfection. As sports psychologist Bob Rotella says, “Golf, like life, is not a game of perfection.”
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WHEN I PERFORM WEDDINGS, I often refer to a quote about the impossible expectations some people have for marriage. “They have a picture in mind of the perfect person. But when problems arise, they are left with a choice. Either keep the picture and tear up the person. Or keep the person and tear up that picture.”
Perfectionism is like a poison.
I once was in the middle of a court case where a home builder walked away from the construction of a new home, all because he was tired of the constant demands and complaints from the home owners, who were not satisfied with an excellent house built to the best of his abilities. Instead, the house had to be perfect, which the builder could not deliver.
Perfectionism is toxic.
Like my golf game 30 years ago, there is a false assumption sometimes that a lack of perfection in a task is equivalent to a complete and utter failure, which that just isn’t true. No one is perfect. Everyone makes mistakes. The secret to success is overcoming the shortcomings and pushing on the best you can, warts and all.
Franklin basketball coach Brian Bales has a word of encouragement when his teams go up against a really tough opponent: “Let’s just do what we do.” Translation: all we can do is our very best, even though it’s not perfect, and trust it will be good enough.
How’s this for a quote? I don’t know who said it. “Excellence is a value. Perfectionism is an insecurity.”
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I’M REMINDED OF ALL this because my golf season starts tomorrow. I will show up at the first tee with the same enthusiasm and hope I have had since I started playing 42 years ago, determined to do my best. But I’m not young anymore, so I don’t swing as smoothly or putt as confidently as I did a generation ago.
As a result, I will be disappointed. I will face a shot of 250 yards, over water, and my brain will say to me, “I’ve got this shot.” And my body will chuckle and say sharply, “Who are you talking to?” So I will lay up. Scores I used to complain about are now pretty good.
But I will remember my talk so many years ago with Tony Elieff Sr. (his son is the pro at NCR Country Club now). I will accept my imperfections, and move forward despite them. The sun will be shining. The birds will be singing.
At least I’m still playing.
I will still make that one shot that will bring me back for another day.
And that’s perfect.