the best of even the most gifted, diligent golfers in the world with the descriptions of the game provided by players such as Adam Scott, who confessed, “Basically, I was just looking at my target and swinging the club and the ball goes there”? Think about Rory McIlroy’s description of shooting that 61 as being as easy as walking in the park and Kenny Perry’s use of the words
simple
and
easy
to describe the 61 that he shot.
At this point I hope that I have only slightly confused you. In penetrating the mystery of flow for the past 15 years, I spent many nights feeling somewhat confused as well. But I can tell you that although these paradoxes may seem confusing, if you keep trying to understand the essence of flow, your pursuit will be justified.
Becoming One With the Club
Consistent with the unforced effort that golfers describe, athletes in flow often report feelings of attachment with their equipment and the tools of their particular trade. For instance, cyclists describe the bike as feeling like an extension of their own bodies, almost like an exoskeleton. For rowers in a regatta, the oar feels like an extension of the body and they can actually feel the water better. Golfers who have been in flow often describe the golf club as being an extension of their hands and arms. Their sense of feel with the club is as sensitive as it is with their own hand.
Even for pros like Keegan Bradley, the sense of effortless effort experienced by golfers in flow comes only after a great deal of conscious, deliberate practice.
Nick Potts/PA Photos
If you’ve ever been in flow while playing golf, you are familiar with this phenomenon. You have this overall sensation of being connected to every aspect of the process of playing golf. Everything . . . flows. Your thoughts flow, and various parts of your body—shoulders, arms, torso, legs, hands, eyes—work in unison. Everything, including your equipment, works as a cohesive unit. Although it is crazy to think about the golf ball making decisions on its own, a sense of destiny and cooperation materializes between golfers and their equipment as they pick the right club for the right shot. And when they pick the club, they do so with confidence, with no second-guessing. And when they put the club into their hands, the fit, length, weight, look, and feel are all perfect. In my camp, that is, among the golfers with whom I work, we refer to this occurrence as a time when the machine is working, an analogy that captures how machines function smoothly because many parts are working together in unison.
U.S. Open winner Jim Furyk captured this aspect of flow perfectly:
The club just feels good in your hands. My hands feel different on the club. My hands feel long and thin rather than short and stubby. It makes the grip feel small, yet really comfortable. You can place the ball right where you want to, and be so confident about it . . . and be able to play effortlessly.
British Open champion Steward Cink reported similar impressions:
I don’t feel like I have a club in my hand, rather, everything, including the club and my body, feels like one in the same. It is almost as if I am tossing the ball where I want it to go. It is that easy.
This sense of connectedness and ease is automaticity at its best, and it’s a function of the thousands of hours of deliberate practice that myelinate our habits. We practice for precisely that reason: So that when it comes time to be on the golf course, we select the right club, go through a routine, execute the appropriate shots, and accept the results without engaging in a whole lot of extraneous thoughts. The impression of the club being an extension of ourselves is a sign that the brain is working optimally. The brain has built-in filters that block out nonessential information and key in on the things that matter. There is nothing extraordinary about this, because we do it every day. When you first learn a physical task such as roller skating or
simple
and
easy
to describe the 61 that he shot.
At this point I hope that I have only slightly confused you. In penetrating the mystery of flow for the past 15 years, I spent many nights feeling somewhat confused as well. But I can tell you that although these paradoxes may seem confusing, if you keep trying to understand the essence of flow, your pursuit will be justified.
Becoming One With the Club
Consistent with the unforced effort that golfers describe, athletes in flow often report feelings of attachment with their equipment and the tools of their particular trade. For instance, cyclists describe the bike as feeling like an extension of their own bodies, almost like an exoskeleton. For rowers in a regatta, the oar feels like an extension of the body and they can actually feel the water better. Golfers who have been in flow often describe the golf club as being an extension of their hands and arms. Their sense of feel with the club is as sensitive as it is with their own hand.
Even for pros like Keegan Bradley, the sense of effortless effort experienced by golfers in flow comes only after a great deal of conscious, deliberate practice.
Nick Potts/PA Photos
If you’ve ever been in flow while playing golf, you are familiar with this phenomenon. You have this overall sensation of being connected to every aspect of the process of playing golf. Everything . . . flows. Your thoughts flow, and various parts of your body—shoulders, arms, torso, legs, hands, eyes—work in unison. Everything, including your equipment, works as a cohesive unit. Although it is crazy to think about the golf ball making decisions on its own, a sense of destiny and cooperation materializes between golfers and their equipment as they pick the right club for the right shot. And when they pick the club, they do so with confidence, with no second-guessing. And when they put the club into their hands, the fit, length, weight, look, and feel are all perfect. In my camp, that is, among the golfers with whom I work, we refer to this occurrence as a time when the machine is working, an analogy that captures how machines function smoothly because many parts are working together in unison.
U.S. Open winner Jim Furyk captured this aspect of flow perfectly:
The club just feels good in your hands. My hands feel different on the club. My hands feel long and thin rather than short and stubby. It makes the grip feel small, yet really comfortable. You can place the ball right where you want to, and be so confident about it . . . and be able to play effortlessly.
British Open champion Steward Cink reported similar impressions:
I don’t feel like I have a club in my hand, rather, everything, including the club and my body, feels like one in the same. It is almost as if I am tossing the ball where I want it to go. It is that easy.
This sense of connectedness and ease is automaticity at its best, and it’s a function of the thousands of hours of deliberate practice that myelinate our habits. We practice for precisely that reason: So that when it comes time to be on the golf course, we select the right club, go through a routine, execute the appropriate shots, and accept the results without engaging in a whole lot of extraneous thoughts. The impression of the club being an extension of ourselves is a sign that the brain is working optimally. The brain has built-in filters that block out nonessential information and key in on the things that matter. There is nothing extraordinary about this, because we do it every day. When you first learn a physical task such as roller skating or
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