There are words a golfer must never say out loud.
Not "I'm playing great." Not "This is my year." Definitely not "Watch this." But the most dangerous words of all — the ones the golf gods punish swiftly and without mercy — are these:
"I've figured it out."
Go ahead. Say them. See what happens.
I told you in my last post that I've come out the other side. And I meant it. Twenty-five years of war with the chipping yips, and I've finally found something that works. I play with confidence now. I score. I chip freely.
But I'd be lying if I left it there.
What I've built is more like a house of cards than a fortress. A hard-won, functional house of cards — but it requires tending. Things drift. Life gets in the way. And every now and then I have to go back around and reset.
That's just the reality of it.
What got me here wasn't one thing. It was a constellation — technique, mental practice, physical awareness, emotional work — all holding together at the same time. When they're humming, it's great. When one drifts, the whole thing wobbles a bit.
Technique, for example. I've built a chipping motion that works for me, with clear checkpoints I can feel and verify. But left unchecked, things creep. The club starts going inside. My trail hand quietly mutinies. You don't notice it until one day something feels slightly off and you can't quite name it. That's why video has become a regular thing for me, not obsessively, just checking in. Catching the drift before it becomes a problem.
Same goes for the mental side. I meditate. I maintain a breathing practice. Not because I did it once and fixed something, but because ongoing is the whole point. Skip it for a few weeks and I notice. Not dramatically, not immediately, but it's there.
And then there are the wildcards. A stretch of bad sleep. A stressful week at work. Three days of eating like a teenager. It all connects. The mind and body are not as separate as we'd like them to be when we're standing over a chip with something on the line.
I still have bad days. Still have rounds where it rears up, even if just for a hole. I still sit in the cart sometimes and think what is happening right now. I still eat chips with chili from time to time. Literally. I'm not entirely reformed.
The difference now is I know what to do about it. I have a sense of where things have slipped and how to get back. One bad round isn't a catastrophe. It's usually just information.
That's not a cure. It's a practice. An ongoing relationship with the game.
Just Being Honest With You
This blog isn't a magic cure. I want to say that plainly, not as a disclaimer, but because I genuinely mean it, and I think you need to hear it.
You'll get to a better place. But it takes work, consistency, and a willingness to stay humble and open-minded about what's actually going on with you. Some things that helped me will do nothing for you. Some things I dismissed might be exactly what you need. That's not a flaw in the process. That's the process.
The quest is never really over. And honestly? I've made a kind of peace with that.
— Chip
Not "I'm playing great." Not "This is my year." Definitely not "Watch this." But the most dangerous words of all — the ones the golf gods punish swiftly and without mercy — are these:
"I've figured it out."
Go ahead. Say them. See what happens.
I told you in my last post that I've come out the other side. And I meant it. Twenty-five years of war with the chipping yips, and I've finally found something that works. I play with confidence now. I score. I chip freely.
But I'd be lying if I left it there.
What I've built is more like a house of cards than a fortress. A hard-won, functional house of cards — but it requires tending. Things drift. Life gets in the way. And every now and then I have to go back around and reset.
That's just the reality of it.
It's a Lot of Things Holding Together at Once
What got me here wasn't one thing. It was a constellation — technique, mental practice, physical awareness, emotional work — all holding together at the same time. When they're humming, it's great. When one drifts, the whole thing wobbles a bit.
Technique, for example. I've built a chipping motion that works for me, with clear checkpoints I can feel and verify. But left unchecked, things creep. The club starts going inside. My trail hand quietly mutinies. You don't notice it until one day something feels slightly off and you can't quite name it. That's why video has become a regular thing for me, not obsessively, just checking in. Catching the drift before it becomes a problem.
Same goes for the mental side. I meditate. I maintain a breathing practice. Not because I did it once and fixed something, but because ongoing is the whole point. Skip it for a few weeks and I notice. Not dramatically, not immediately, but it's there.
And then there are the wildcards. A stretch of bad sleep. A stressful week at work. Three days of eating like a teenager. It all connects. The mind and body are not as separate as we'd like them to be when we're standing over a chip with something on the line.
Still Human Over Here
I still have bad days. Still have rounds where it rears up, even if just for a hole. I still sit in the cart sometimes and think what is happening right now. I still eat chips with chili from time to time. Literally. I'm not entirely reformed.
The difference now is I know what to do about it. I have a sense of where things have slipped and how to get back. One bad round isn't a catastrophe. It's usually just information.
That's not a cure. It's a practice. An ongoing relationship with the game.
Just Being Honest With You
This blog isn't a magic cure. I want to say that plainly, not as a disclaimer, but because I genuinely mean it, and I think you need to hear it.
You'll get to a better place. But it takes work, consistency, and a willingness to stay humble and open-minded about what's actually going on with you. Some things that helped me will do nothing for you. Some things I dismissed might be exactly what you need. That's not a flaw in the process. That's the process.
The quest is never really over. And honestly? I've made a kind of peace with that.
— Chip
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