Unplanned Moments of Idle Thought and Exploration

April has come and gone, and this was a special one for me with nearly 20 straight days on the road from Augusta, Georgia, to St. Andrews, Scotland. It can be exhausting, but someone has to do it.

More seriously, we are grateful for the opportunities and try hard to maximize every moment on these trips, gathering or producing work you will eventually see. The month was a sprint, with days often precisely scheduled and planned to achieve these goals. There will be many memories of this month for me from the Masters and Scotland, but two that will stick came in the moments where I had nothing planned or prescribed for me at all.

The first came when I’d finished a delightful round at Lundin Links, about 30 minutes south of St. Andrews in Fife. My colleague Matt Rouches needed to film and drone the course in the afternoon light, and with the car under his name, my other colleague, Will Graves, and I needed to put our time to use on foot. We had no plans, other than to find something to recommend to others in a future guide, and this will now come with the highest possible recommendation.

We committed to going out and finding something, not necessarily a specific restaurant or activity, but just whatever came our way. I suggested we go for a walk into what looked like a nearby town. I consulted my phone to confirm there was a beach path and something down the way, but I did not want to find a specific place or read the Google ratings and reviews of local spots. So we strolled the beach paths, bobbing up and down, stopping occasionally to look out at the sea and across the firth at Muirfield and North Berwick. The paths spit us out into a town I’d later learn was called Lower Largo. We walked toward the village center and then got an unsolicited call from across the street from a local mom walking her kid who had clearly marked the doughy tourist, shouting to go to the Railway Inn. We found it, walked up, and read a hasty printed sheet of paper taped to the door that read, “Absolutely no football colors to be worn inside.” I thought this place must be the real deal but felt uncertain about what was inside.

What was inside was the best pub I found in a week full of finding good, local-approved pubs. I demanded that the rest of the team visit the Railway Inn once they were done shooting the golf courses. That took enough time for Graves and I to get a few pints ahead, disconnected with no phone service inside. We had no plans, no dinner reservation, no real destination, just time. It turned into the best half-day that I will now, ironically, prescribe for you: play golf at Lundin, leave the car in the lot, walk the sandy paths into town, and spend time at the Railway Inn. It is a perfect half-day.

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A second moment of zen and happiness came when I got distracted by the regular chops and hackers playing up the 18th at the Old Course. To be honest, I’d always found it a little odd that people had gathered to watch regular Joe golf along the links, but that’s just the culture and the way the town and park that is the Old Course interact with each other. Maybe it was the preceding week at the phone-free Masters, but I left my phone in my pocket a little longer than normal and just stood along the railing looking out at the landscape and watching the golfers play in, shake hands, hug, and go off. I’m not sure I’d do this anywhere else. Sure, there are patios and terraces adjacent to many 18th holes, but you’re lingering there for the drinks and post-round chatter first, occasionally watching a friend play in. This is simply the place capturing your attention, and finding time well spent in just watching other hacks play. It was idle — scrolling a phone or watching TV does not count as idle anymore — but it grabbed me and showed me the light of why other nearby walkers and residents so often gather on those white railing fences. I stood there for an hour but it could have been a couple more.

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My entire life is planned and scheduled now. There are apps on my phone and devices in my kitchen that connect to my phone, telling me when and where I need to be or who I should be answering at that given moment. My car, once a refuge for daydreaming, has a dashboard full of pop-ups with people asking me for things or a calendar reminding me of a meeting starting in 10 minutes.

The announcement of Royal Lytham & St. Annes as the 2028 Open Championship host took me back to the last time it was there and my distinct memory of the day. I didn't watch the finish at all, but went on this incredible, unplanned, untimed several-hour walk with my wife around Old Town Alexandria. I still remember that walk and impromptu journey clearly, and getting home with my dumb phone that did not have all the modern connections to see Adam Scott had blown it.

April was a whirlwind month full of gratifying memories with friends and bucket list experiences and places. I was grateful for the schedule that put me in place to see Rory McIlroy win the Masters, listen to Fred Ridley warn about ball rollback debates, be on the tee for a chance to play the Old Course, be in a seat for dinner at the Criterion, and so much more. It was all planned, and it had to be to get it all done. But two experiences that resonated strongest with me came in the unplanned moments of idle thought and exploration. They were reminders in my old age of how the best experiences are often discovered. So as we turn to May and the days keep getting longer, that’s a message I’ll try to come back to when time permits: start a day with no plans, block it off as unplanned, or maybe just a loose one to play golf somewhere, and then go find your way through it. Where you end up often leaves you with a strong memory and the most satisfied.