On The Fly

I n this episode, How I Found Equipoise on the Links I had a grand goal, a numerical quest, To shoot under seventy, passing the test! With my seventieth birthday just thirty days out, We headed to Carlsbad to conquer my doubt. Now, golf is a game full of grumbles and groans, Of muttering words in quite pitiful tones. You squeeze on the club till your knuckles turn white, You count up your score, and you freeze up in fright! But today on the course, I discovered new joys, I found that magnificent word: Equipoise ! It means that you’re balanced, composed, and un-rushed, The voices of panic completely are hushed. I threw out the math and the scorecard addition, And swapped out the stress for a simple tradition. I thought of Ben Hogan, who cleverly taught "Don't think of the score. The next shot matters far more." I didn't look back, I didn't look past, I simply stepped up, and I had a great blast. Seven nice pars and a birdie so sweet, Nine bogeys, one double (which ...

In this episode, the Retirement Mulligan Welcome to the first official morning of the rest of my life. With no alarms and no meetings, chasing a little white ball around The Lakehouse—a par-58 canvas—felt like the perfect way to christen retirement. Golf is a game of profound integrity, so I must disclose that my playing partner, Steve, and I took a couple of mulligans off the tee today. When you overswing like you're launching into low-Earth orbit, the most mature choice is sometimes a do-over. In retirement, these aren't mulligans. They are Executive Retirement Relief Strokes —a benefit package we’ve earned. When the swing connected exactly as intended, it was pure geometry in motion. Watching a crisply struck iron trace a towering parabolic arc against the San Marcos sky is the everyday magic we try to capture here at On the Fly . We witnessed it eleven times today, to be exact. Hitting eleven greens in regulation meant I repaired so many of my own pitch marks that I wonder...

The telescope (Celestron) sits quietly under its cover, temporarily blinded by Southern California's annual meteorological hostage situation – June Gloom. Somewhere above that thick gray ceiling, photons that began their journey before humans appeared are streaming across the cosmos, only to be intercepted by a marine layer that seems to have veto power over astronomy. Instead of observing the universe, I find myself imagining – The End of Everything (Astrophysically Speaking) by physicist Katie Mack. According to modern cosmology, the universe may eventually end in a Big Rip, a Big Crunch, Heat Death, Vacuum Decay, or some other catastrophe that sounds suspiciously like a rejected heavy-metal album title. Astrophysicists spend their careers calmly discussing the possibility that reality itself could suddenly cease to exist because a quantum field had a bad day. It's a remarkable way to start a Saturday morning. One moment you're contemplating the ultimate fate of spacetime...

In this episode, the Art of Refiring July 1st is staring me in the face, less than two weeks away. For years, retirement seemed like something that happened to other people. Suddenly, it's on my calendar. I've been thinking a lot about the dreaded "R-word" lately. Not because I'm worried about having enough to do. Quite the opposite. What fascinates me is this strange paradox: Why does retirement make so many of us nervous, while having a job—even one that regularly drives us crazy—somehow feels comforting? Let's be honest. Most of us spend years complaining about meetings that should have been emails, reply-all disasters, impossible deadlines, and that one coworker who insists on microwaving leftover fish in the breakroom. Yet when the idea of walking away finally arrives, we hesitate. I think I've figured out why. A career isn't just a job. It's a highly structured coping mechanism. For forty-plus years, somebody else has basically decided what I...

In this episode, A funny thing happens when you stop searching for your golf ball—you start enjoying the game. Welcome back to On the Fly . Let’s be honest: at 69, most people are focused on staying upright and not tripping over the cat. Not me. Fueled by a lifetime of Zig Ziglar wisdom—especially A View From the Top —I’ve been chasing a goal that sits somewhere between ambitious and “mildly delusional”: By my 70th birthday, I want to shoot my age in golf. And yes—before anyone calls the PGA Tour—this is happening on a par-3 executive course. This is The Amen Corner of Retirement, where the holes are short, the rounds are friendly, and the expectations are... negotiable. Still, a 70 is a 70. The Quiet Progress And lately, something interesting has happened. This week? I’m noticing the progress. I’ve been spending time on the parts of the game that don’t make headlines—chipping and putting. No drama. No hero shots. Just quiet, repetitive work around the greens. And now... the payoff is...

⛳️  In this episode, why your Ego is costing you 5 strokes a round. I spent last weekend watching the Pebble Beach Pro-Am from the comfort of my La-Z-Boy recliner. It’s a beautiful spectacle. The cliffs, the ocean, the guys whose swing speeds sound like a fighter jet breaking the sound barrier. And during every commercial break, a very serious voiceover tells me that to play like a pro, I need to buy the ball the pros play. They make a compelling argument. They show slick slow-motion footage of a golf ball compressing against a clubface like a stress ball in a vise grip, then exploding down the fairway. Here is the uncomfortable truth that gravity whispered in my ear somewhere around my 65th birthday: I’m not Rory McIlroy. And if you are reading this, statistically speaking, neither are you. The Physics of the  Squish When a pro hits a “Tour-level” ball, they swing upwards of 115+ mph (Rory 123 mph). They possess the violence necessary to squish that incredibly hard little sph...