It was the easiest shot of the day.

A short chip to a back pin sitting at the bottom of a ridge put me in a great spot for birdie. I just had to get the ball on top of the hill and let it trickle down toward the hole.

I took a few practice swings, got my stance, and swung.

The ball sailed over the back of the green and into the woods behind the hole. I bladed it…and I was not happy.

Having shots like that on the golf course is embarrassing, especially when you’ve practiced them and are trying to prove you know how to play. **But the only way to have** _**fewer shots like that on the golf course is to put yourself in a position where you have more**_**.**

Here’s why.

My philosophy with golf used to be that I had to work on my swing at the driving rage more often than I played. This strategy worked initially, but once I learned the mechanics of the swing, practicing at the range more than playing hurt my progress.

The usual situation went like this: practice for a few weeks at my local course and then go play a round with friends or my dad. Even though my swing felt great at the range, when I finally went out on the course, it was like I forgot what golf was. I don’t mean just a few shots pulled here and there, but swinging and missing off the tee or topping a 7-iron from the fairway; total beginner stuff. That performance made me think I had to just practice more before I played again, so that’s what I did.

Even though I got invites to play, I’d deny them because I didn’t feel prepared or like I had worked hard enough at the range since my last round. And I said no, not because I was afraid of playing poorly—if I was the only one out there, I wouldn’t care—but because I was afraid of embarrassing myself by playing poorly in front of other people. I didn’t want to look like a fool. I didn’t want to fail.

But that exact mindset kept me from getting better.

Playing on the course is radically different from hitting balls at the range. Even if you’re out playing for fun, there’s a certain amount of pressure added that’s impossible to replicate at the driving range. This doesn’t only mess with your head, it messes with your swing too. It’s not that I forgot how to swing; it’s that hitting balls on the range doesn’t have the same amount of pressure as hitting a 7-iron into a green after an impeccable tee shot. You want to make the tee shot pay off, so you put pressure on yourself. Maybe you’re a bit nervous because the person you got paired up with is staring you down, waiting so they can hit, too.

Those are obstacles you have to overcome in your mind and body to swing well that you don’t face on the range. So, the only way to get used to that pressure is to be out on the actual golf course facing that pressure more. By nature, that will mean more chunked chip shots, topped irons, and maybe a few swings and a miss off the tee box with the driver. **But to be great eventually, you have to be okay with being bad for a while.** To get better, I had to be willing to look like a fool. I had to be willing to fail.

As Seth Godin says, “Learning is serial incompetence on our way to getting better.” Anyone who is now great at something was once bad. Even if they were born with an innate gift, they had to practice and cultivate their skill. They had to fail before they became great; they had to look like fools until they weren’t. You and I are no different. **Don’t let the embarrassment of messing up keep you from getting better.** Be okay with looking like a fool…until you don’t.

To write clean code, you have to first be okay with writing sloppy code.

To run a fast marathon, you have to first be okay with running slow.

To learn Spanish, you have to first be okay not knowing words in a conversation.

To have creative ideas, you have to first be okay with having lots of bad ideas.

I can’t expect to perform better on the golf course if I never get out on the golf course. I have to fail, and fail, and fail some more; it’s the only way to improve.

If you want to be successful, you have to be okay with looking like a fool. Failure at first leads to mastery at last. Mastery follows foolishness.

> Embarrassment is the cost of entry.
> 
> If you aren’t willing to look like a foolish beginner, you’ll never become a graceful master.
> 
> – [​Ed Latimore​](https://x.com/EdLatimore/status/1058305553020141570?s=20)