What’s the Reason for Burning Yourself Out?

My son and I played a half-round of golf today – we were guests at a country club in town.  A place without a special rate for public servants, where people like us gotta know a guy to be able to smack a ball off one of their complimentary tees.  The vehicles in the lot were as you’d expect – at least one Cyber Truck, a Range Rover or two, gas guzzler trucks capable of pulling your house from its foundation, and foreign engineering all over the place.  Lockers with names on them, real artwork on the walls – not the TJ Maxx stuff – and people to clean off your clubs after you’ve dirtied them.

Until this very moment, I did not know the song – Even Though We Ain’t Got Money – isn’t called that.  Nor did I know that Kenny Loggins sang it.  I thought Kenny was a one-hit wonder with Footloose.  Congrats, Kenny – to me, you’ve reached two-hitter status.  No disrespect to Loggins’ fans.  He’s kind of a cross between John Denver and a country singer who can do the fast songs.   Oh, and Danger Zone – I guess that's his work as well.   Ok Loggins.  You are very good at what you do.

Actually, it’s called Danny’s Song?

On the same day that I’m on a classy course on which I really don’t belong, I’m reading a book about Taoism.  This blog isn’t about Taoism – so don’t stop reading, please.  It’s just that golf is a game that calls upon its greatest practitioners to have enough time to play, people to teach them how, and vast expanses of land where the ball gets hit with the stick.  Often, this land is reserved for elite individuals with connections to elite friends and businesses.  Private Country Clubs are places where only the members can have the privilege.  And, not just anybody can become a member. 

The Taoism thing – that’s just me trying to deepen my understanding of stuff like mindset, what real happiness is all about, while at the same time coming to grips with difficult things.  There’s part of me that wants to put in the hours, grow the ideas, and implement things people haven’t thought of yet – just so I could become a member of that country club.  There’s another part of me that’s like – dude that’s enough.  Worry less about the country club and more about your physical and mental health, and your relationships, too. 

When my nose is in that book, I just want to climb Monadnock on a dry summer day.  Then, when I am at that country club – I just want to know what it feels like to belong.  More than just belonging to the club – but to enjoy the sense of belonging that accompanies a pricetag like that.  Can that book help me understand why, when I was a kid, the Huffy wasn’t good enough, and I had to have a Schwinn?

The Schwinn was better, right?

To you…The reader, what are you working like a dog to achieve?  Is it just to get by?  Is it for a soccer camp for your kid that costs five digits?  Or is it because you get such satisfaction out of what you do for work – that you’ll give up your family, friends, and health, just to keep doing it?  For most, I suspect it is #1 or #2, but not #3.  None of the three are good, actually.  Because as you trade your time in for food and shelter, or for stuff you don’t need  - you’re losing it.  Not your mind…your time. 

Then add in some drinks.  Maybe a prescription.  Things to help you sleep longer – so you can pass more time.  It’s a hamster wheel. Fun to watch – but sadly, you can’t – because you are the hamster.

You aren’t bragging about being the hamster, are you?  Your are complaining about it. 

You run and run, maybe in a nicer wheel, maybe in one with leather trim and a Bluetooth speaker. But the motion’s the same. And the view never changes.

That’s why I am reading books I’d have never considered before; weirdly enough, they speak louder to me than the sound of my driver hitting a ball. This literature whispers something that no boss, no Instagram reel, and no platinum AMEX ever will: Stop killing yourself for nothing.

I’m not saying quit. I’m saying stop trying to outrun yourself. An idea from the book to hang this on to is that when you realize you have everything you need, the world actually belongs to you. 

And it kind of hit me—maybe that’s what I’m chasing every time I check Zillow, or do the math on getting a Rolex, or imagine how nice it would be to park something European in a golf club lot. Maybe I’m just trying to belong to something that can’t be bought, only felt.

That doesn’t mean I’m trading in ambition for a robe and incense.   I gave up the Brunello – not the dry-aged steak. It means I’m starting to see the value in different metrics. Laughter on a nine-hole jaunt.  The experience of my son nearly killing me with the golf cart…the memory that created is real wealth. Sleeping through the night without a drink? That’s peace. Getting through a Tuesday without needing a “reward” at the end of it? That’s freedom.

We’re fed this idea that if we just hustle a little harder, just keep our heads down a little longer, it’ll all be worth it. But what if it already is? What if we’ve just been trained to miss it?

So here’s what I’m learning, and what I hope you’ll consider: maybe the goal isn’t the club, the car, or the status. Maybe it’s showing up for your life with both eyes open and realizing you’re already playing on sacred ground—especially if your kid is walking beside you.

You don’t have to drink to feel like you belong. You don’t have to stress to prove you’re doing enough. And you sure as hell don’t have to buy your way into joy.

So maybe you don’t need to own a country club membership to feel like you’ve made it. Maybe you just need to notice who’s riding shotgun on your nine-hole round. That’s the good stuff. And mostly, that’s free.