The Time Nobody Played

I used to think all people needed was a reason to gather. A campfire... a coffee pot... or in my case, nine putting greens. Then one event made me realize that wasn't quite enough. Sometimes the course can sit right in front of a group of people, perfectly ready, and nobody takes the first shot.

One of the most important things I've learned about people happened at an event where nobody wanted anything to do with my mini golf course.

At least... not at first.

It was a men's retreat at a campground in Wimberley. It was an evening event, so the course glowed with course lights and glow-in-the-dark golf balls. There were a couple hundred people there. I'd spent the better part of an hour laying out the course and adding the lights in a spot that was impossible to miss. The course was right in the middle of the activity.

This was still early in my business, so I was working the event by myself. Once the last hole was in place, there wasn't much left to do except wait for the first golfer.

I assumed it would happen almost immediately. It didn't. People walked past the course. They glanced at it. A few smiled or stopped to make a comment. Then they kept walking.

Empty mini golf courses are a sad sight

Half an hour went by. Not a single putter left the rack, not a ball was out of the basket.

I wasn't worried yet, but I was definitely confused.

Another half hour passed. Still nothing. It was almost eerie. Two hundred people, and not one golf ball had moved. The course had become part of the scenery.

Now I was starting to wonder if I'd completely misread the event. Maybe this group simply wasn't interested. Maybe miniature golf wasn't the right fit. Maybe I'd made a mistake.

Mostly, though...

I was bored.

So I did what anyone who owns a portable mini golf course would do. I grabbed a putter and hit the links. Sometimes, when things are a little slow, I'll jokingly say it's time to "test the course again." That's exactly what I did that evening.

I played the first hole. Then the second. Somewhere around the third hole I heard someone behind me.

"Mind if I jump in?"

"Of course not."

A few minutes later another person wandered over. Then another.

Before I knew it, I was trying to get out of the way because the course had become exactly what I'd imagined an hour earlier. People were laughing, competing, offering unsolicited putting advice, and waiting their turn.

Nothing about the course had changed. It had been inviting people to play all evening. The holes were exactly where I'd placed them. The putters hadn't moved. The golf balls were the same ones that had been sitting there untouched for the previous hour. The people hadn't changed either.

The only thing that changed... was that someone had gone first.

I've seen versions of that moment ever since. Not just on the miniature golf course, but everywhere. At weddings, nobody wants to be the first person on the dance floor. In meetings, most people wait for someone else to ask the first question.

Whenever people are invited to volunteer, the first person to step forward somehow makes it easier for everyone else to follow.

For a long time I wondered why.

Then I remembered something from high school chemistry class: a seed crystal.

A supersaturated solution can sit perfectly still, ready to crystallize, but nothing happens until one tiny crystal is introduced. Once it appears, the rest of the solution begins organizing itself around that first point.

I can't help but think people sometimes work the same way. Most of us aren't waiting to decide whether we want to participate. We're waiting to find out whether it's safe to participate. Whether someone else has already shown us that it's okay to go first.

That evening, I thought I was rescuing myself from boredom.

Now I know that I accidentally became the seed crystal.

Since then, whenever an event seems a little hesitant, I don't panic anymore.

I just pick up a putter.

Sometimes all a group needs is someone willing to take the first shot.