Monday was my 60th birthday. Not the kind of thing I usually announce—I’m still smarting from the time a local grocery store gave me a senior discount without asking. Let’s just say… I haven’t been back.  So yeah, I’m in denial.

But I’m also eating a healthy slice of humble pie, because I was very wrong about golfing with the girls.

When I first picked up the game, Steve—my husband, coach, caddy, cart buddy—gently nudged me:  “Why don’t you join the women’s league?”
“Call that lady you met at the club.”  Was he already ditching me? Not a chance. I latched onto his golf bag and refused to surrender.  We were golf partners, end of story.

And when other women told me they didn’t golf with their husbands?  Oh, I acted surprised.  Inside, though, I had a growing list of reasons they were probably right.  Because let’s be honest—it’s a different experience.

Fast forward to my birthday and suddenly, it all made sense.  A few newly minted besties from the club invited me out for 18. I said yes. These weren’t strangers—they’d seen my game during scrambles. They’d witnessed the occasional F-bomb. They’d seen me not make it up the cliff on hole 7. The shame was already out there.

Yesterday, I showed up to the most adorable birthday golf cart you’ve ever seen—decked out in sweet little golf motifs and  thankfully zero numbers. I teared up a bit behind the sunshades. Then we hit the course.

We laughed through all 18 holes.
We cursed—a lot.
We hunted for balls like caddies with amnesia.
We supported each other. No judgment. No drama. Just joy.

It all ended with the best banana pudding I’ve ever had (which I absolutely ate for breakfast this morning). 

We made a unanimous decision: we’re doing it again. 

But here’s what they might not know.  Underneath the bold, brash exterior…  behind the Titleists, the swagger, the swearing… There’s still that slightly insecure girl who hopes no one noticed her whiffed swing or the three-footer she blasted past the cup.In my head, I’m “Almost Ridiculous,” still striving to be “Almost Amazing.”  This round quelled that insecurity. I think we all are sometimes.  This round was a much needed experience to let go of that insecurity once and for all. It was time. 

 And on that birthday round, something even more magical happened,  All four of us conquered Hole 7—that evil cliff shot that’s haunted me since day one.  And mine? It soared and rolled to the back collar, waiting like a little victory flag waving just for me.

So Staci, Carrie, and Tami—thank you.

Thank you for the laughter.  Thank you for the love and thank you for showing me that golfing with the girls isn’t second place—it’s a whole different kind of win.

Here’s to more rebel rounds, more banana pudding, and more being almost amazing… together.