Reflections from the Range

I’ll be honest—I didn’t volunteer for this.

In fact, when the Club Manager asked me if I’d be willing to contribute to the Willow Dunes blog, I thought she was joking. I assumed she needed someone to review the new imported mineral water line at The Velvet Taproom or write up a recap of the recent “Gold-Tier Members Only" barefoot pickleball night.

But she looked me dead in the eye and said,

“Eddie, we need some heart.”

Heart. At Willow Dunes. The same club where someone once returned a cashmere headcover because it “didn’t breathe properly.”

So I said yes. Not because I’m trying to prove anything, or because I think anyone actually reads the blog beyond event RSVP links, but because… well… maybe she’s right. Maybe we do need some heart.

And maybe—just maybe—I’ve got a few stories left worth telling.

I’ve been a member here a long time. Long enough to have seen egos melt in summer heat and friendships bloom over bad bunker shots. Long enough to understand that beneath all the opulence—the gold-leafed signage, the heirloom peacocks, the waitlisted eucalyptus towels—this place is still a place where life happens.

People lose. People grow. People laugh and cry and screw up and come back the next morning with coffee in one hand and hope in the other.

And somewhere in between the Legacy Institute swing analysis and the Serenity Loft breathwork, we all keep trying to figure it out.

So that’s what this series will be. Nothing fancy. Just a few reflections—some from the range, some from the course, and a few from moments most people walked right past.

You won’t find scorecards or tips in these posts. You’ll find real stories, wrapped in satin-lined absurdity.

Stories about:

• The bench that taught me something about grief
• A kid on the putting green who reminded me why this game matters
• The day I showed up angry and left a little more whole

Call it therapy in a polo. Or just something to read between tee times.

Thanks for letting me share.

I’ll be back soon—with a story about a bench, a memory, and a moment that hit harder than a bad drive into the wind.

Until then, stay humble. And keep it in the fairway, if you can.

— Eddie