My friend, Scott, is my golf guru. A former high school and college golf player, he often occupies my thoughts as I play the game.
Most of the time, his voice is advising me on how to approach a shot. How to manage the game. How to play within my abilities. How to escape a bunker.
But Scott also offers me this mantra:
“Grow the legend.”
Scott believes that when an opportunity presents itself to attempt something extraordinary, you should seriously consider making that extraordinary choice.
Life doesn’t offer us many opportunities to do something unforgettable and remarkable, so when it does, Scott says to “Grow the legend.”
And so, on the seventh hole at Pinecrest Golf Club in Richmond, Rhode Island, I was faced with such a choice. My tee shot had drifted right and landed behind a stand of trees. The sensible, mature shot would be to pitch the ball back onto the fairway and continue onto the hole, hoping for a bogie, but as I stood over my ball, I spotted an alleyway through the trees:
Impossibly small. Incredibly low to the ground. Lined on all sides by trees, branches, twigs, and leaves.
An unlikely, possibly impossible shot.
Also, an opportunity to grow the legend.
It wasn’t an easy decision. Though I wasn’t exactly having the round of my life, my score was reasonable, and the likelihood of success on this shot was minuscule. Also, if I failed to make the shot, I’d likely be hitting my next shot from somewhere within the trees, which would also be an incredibly difficult shot.
Still, if I managed to make the shot, it would be legendary.
With Scott’s voice in my mind, I chose the potentially legendary route.
I also knew that the shot would require me to punch a 7-iron, keeping the ball low and straight as an arrow, which happens to be a shot I can make. I’ve punched many a 7-iron out from under trees in the past. This would be unlike any shot I’d ever attempted, but it was at least in my wheelhouse of shots I could conceivably make.
“I’m going for it,” I announced to my friend, Andrew. “I’m growing the legend.”
Andrew was enthusiastic. It’s easy to be enthusiastic in these situations. You’ll either watch your friend hit an impossible shot or fail spectacularly.
Both are fun.
I stood over the ball, lined up the shot, drew back the club, and swung.
It’s not often in golf that a ball does exactly what you want it to do. In this case, it did. The ball leaped off my club and flew for about 40 yards at a height of about three feet, passing through the narrow window and flying out onto the fairway on the other side, a sand wedge from the green.
The ball hit nothing on its way. Not a single leaf or twig.
I couldn’t believe it.
Andrew shouted with joy.
I had grown the legend.
Last weekend, I shot one of the best rounds of golf in my life. I beat my friend, Tom, who I had only beaten a few times in my life, and I came within a stroke of beating my friend Jeff, too. I was standing in the tee box on the ninth hole with a 38 before fouling up the last hole with a double bogie.
Still, a tremendous round for me.
It will be forgotten soon.
That legendary shot will not.
That is why we grow the legend. We create moments that we will never forget.
And Scott’s rule applies to all of life. On Saturday night, my friend Jeni and I performed “Matt and Jeni Are Unprepared.” – a storytelling improv where we found, crafted, and told true stories about our lives from prompts offered by the audience, the internet, and each other. A sold-out audience paid money to watch us try to entertain them absent any preparation.
When Elysha told the audience the rules of the show, they groaned in disbelief. It was a seemingly impossible task. Nevertheless, we tried, and honestly, we crushed it.
We grew the legend.
I grew the legend when I agreed to perform Jewish folktales in concert with a full orchestra last year.
I grew the legend when I began teaching Shakespeare to elementary school students 25 years ago.
I grew the legend when I agreed to become a substitute minister for Unitarian Universalist Churches.
I grew the legend when I agreed to begin consulting for the FBI, even though I had no idea how I could possibly help them.
I grew the legend when I agreed to become a wedding DJ back in 1997 despite having no experience, equipment, or understanding of weddings, wedding music, or the wedding industry.
And I grew the legend when I agreed to officiate Scott’s wedding many years ago despite never having done such a thing before. Since that first wedding, I’ve officiated the weddings of more than 100 couples, including many of my close friends, but it all began by saying yes to something new and a little ridiculous, thus growing the legend.
There’s nothing wrong with making the wise, safe choice, but it will rarely yield legendary results.
