More Life Lessons from Disc Golf
Almost three years ago to the day, I wrote a blog post drawing parallels between disc golf and life. At the time, I was amazed at how frequently moments on the course mirrored challenges, revelations, and small victories off of it. Since then, that insight hasn’t faded— in fact, it’s only grown stronger. Every round I play still reveals little metaphors that echo life’s unpredictable rhythms. And recently, I experienced a moment so striking I felt compelled to share again.
Let me start with a quick refresher: I’ve been playing disc golf for about 20 years. That might sound impressive, but let me be clear, there’s absolutely no direct correlation between how long you’ve played and how good you are. On my best days, I’d say I’m somewhere between average and slightly above average. And honestly? That’s fine by me. I play because I genuinely love the game.
My skill set is a bit lopsided. I don’t have a lot of arm speed, so my drives tend to be shorter than most players I see out there. But where I lack in distance, I make up for in accuracy, especially on approach shots. Over the years, I’ve come to appreciate the nuances of disc selection, technique, and strategy. It’s been a journey of quiet improvement and consistent joy, not dramatic victories or scorecard bragging rights.
Then, just a month ago, I witnessed something on the course that completely shifted my game and offered up one of those life lessons I keep stumbling upon.
I was out playing a casual round when I noticed an older gentleman tee off a few holes ahead of me. His throw didn’t look particularly powerful. In fact, it barely seemed to travel any distance off the tee. I remember thinking, “Aww… well, at least he’s out here enjoying the day.” But then something unexpected happened.
His disc landed on its edge and began to roll fast. It was cruising with purpose, bouncing over the terrain like it had a mind of its own. And it didn’t stop. It kept rolling… and rolling… until it came to a rest far beyond where any of my drives typically land. I watched in disbelief. Then I watched him do it again on the next hole.
I had to talk to him.
He was more than happy to chat and share his approach. For those familiar with the disc golf world, you’ll know what he was doing: throwing rollers. I knew what rollers were but I’d never seen them executed with such control and fluidity. He made it look effortless.
That evening, I went home inspired and did a deep dive. I researched the best discs for rollers, studied throwing techniques, and watched countless tutorials. Armed with new knowledge, I hit the course the next day determined to learn.
And it worked.
Once I got the hang of it, my drives almost doubled in distance. Suddenly, my second shots were easier, and the course felt different, more manageable, more fun, more open. I wasn’t just improving my game; I was expanding it, finding new ways to play, and new ways to enjoy it.
But here’s the thing: it doesn’t always work.
Some days the ground isn’t right, too bumpy, too sloped, too soggy or the grass too thick to let the disc roll freely. And sometimes I still make bad throws. The disc will catch an edge or hit a hidden branch and veer wildly in the wrong direction, putting me in worse shape than if I had just thrown the disc like normal. But even when the roller fails, I’ve learned how to adjust. I can usually recover or adapt. And I fall back on the old techniques that have always been reliable. I didn’t throw those tools away; I just added something new to the bag.
And that, too, is a lesson.
We try new things in life, new habits, new strategies, new mindsets and they don’t always click. Sometimes the conditions just aren’t right. Sometimes we get it wrong. But the key is in being willing to experiment, to learn, and to trust that you can always fall back on what you know while growing into something better.
Buddhists say you can't pour into a full cup. The idea is simple: if your mind is already full of assumptions, pride, or rigid ways of doing things, there’s no room left for growth. A person should always remain open, willing to empty a little space inside to let something new in. That mindset, of being a lifelong learner, is exactly what led me to try something different on the course and it made all the difference.
It’s 2025 we’re taught and often assume that power and speed, whether in sports, careers, or relationships, is the key to getting ahead. But sometimes, progress isn’t about force. It’s about technique, timing, and learning from others. Sometimes, the most effective way forward isn’t the straightest path but the one that rolls, bounces and adjusts with the terrain.
There’s a certain humility in watching someone do something differently, with better results, and allowing yourself to learn from it, even after years of doing it your own way. I could’ve clung to my old approach. “Frisbees are made to fly!” I could’ve dismissed that older player’s technique as a gimmick. But instead, I opened myself up to a new possibility, and it paid off.
Disc golf has always been more than a hobby for me. It’s a space to reflect, to reset, and to enjoy the outdoors with intention. And now, with this new skill in my toolkit, it’s also a reminder that growth doesn’t have an expiration date. Whether you’re just starting out or two decades in, there’s always something to learn if you’re willing to watch, listen, and try.
So here I am, three years later, still walking the fairways, still throwing discs, and still finding bits of wisdom tucked between the trees and chains. If you’re reading this and you play, maybe you’ve had moments like these, unexpected encounters, quiet breakthroughs, or humbling lessons from unlikely teachers. If not, maybe it’s time to grab a disc, head to a local course, and see what life has to teach you.
