TROON, Scotland -- You might not recognize Justin Leonard if you haven't seen him in a while. The schoolboy visage of his younger years has given way to middle-agedness -- middle-agedness for a golfer, at least. The enduringly furrowed brow is decidedly less furrowed. Then there's the beard. Salt is noticeably creeping up on the pepper; it exists in varying shades of unkemptness, from marginally scruffy to consummate mountain man, which just happens to be a major part of his Twitter handle these days.

This isn't a story about a few extra whiskers, though. It's about what they represent.

"I'd never gone more than three or four days without shaving until this little stint," he explains. "You know, there's a little bit of freedom in that." Leonard's words might make it sound like he's taking a long weekend at the beach, but his actions are indicative of a major lifestyle change for him and his family.

In just nine starts so far this PGA Tour season, the 1997 Champion Golfer of the Year has earned $288,428. He's also been working as a television analyst -- and enjoying his new-found freedom much more. David Cannon/Allsport

As he prepares for The Open at Royal Troon this week, site of his lone major championship victory back in 1997, the man who ranks 17th on the PGA Tour's all-time money list with more than $33 million in official earnings returns with a new sense of perspective on the game.

It all started early last summer. Mired in a slump that saw him miss nine consecutive cuts, Leonard started to feel the gravitational pull of other priorities after two decades as a touring pro. He wanted to be with his wife Amanda and their four young children more often. He wanted to pursue some hobbies. He wanted to try his hand at broadcasting. And he really didn't want to play golf as much as he'd been playing.

"I just thought, 'You know what? I'm not enjoying this,'" he says. "I kind of started thinking about what life looks like after golf."

He sat down with his family at their home in Dallas and explained that after so many years of everyone else making sacrifices for him, he wanted to repay the favor. He asked them where they wanted to be, what they wanted to do, if they could choose anything in the world.

Before the year was over, they'd moved to the posh ski town of Aspen, Colorado.

Life there, according to Leonard, is the antithesis of their previous PGA Tour hustle and bustle. Everything moves slower. They ski a lot. (Leonard says he's a scratch-handicap skier, but admits "there are a whole lot of plus-2s out here.") They go on long bike rides. They hike. They see bears out in the wild.

"There's such a theme of freedom in the last year, year-and-a-half," he says. "I think that's the reason I'm not stressed about these next couple of months. Whatever my path is, I'm not stressed about it. It's just freedom."

Others would be. After all, in between ski runs and bike rides and hikes and bear sightings, Leonard is still playing some golf, using his final remaining exemption at the age of 44 that he earned by being in the top 50 in the all-time PGA Tour money list. If he doesn't play well enough to retain his playing privileges this season, he'll either have to wait nearly six years until he's PGA Tour Champions-eligible or start an aggressive letter-writing campaign for tournament invitations -- and he insists the latter isn't a serious option.

But here's the real crazy part, as if a PGA Tour veteran giving up that life of luxury wasn't enough: In his limited starts, with little focus on practice and preparation away from tournament sites, Leonard is actually playing better than before.

In nine appearances this season, he's already made seven cuts -- including each of his past five. If this strategy sounds familiar, it's because he borrowed it directly from the playbook of Steve Stricker, who made a similar cutback a few years ago.

"I didn't think I could do it, but I was able to come out here and still be competitive," says Stricker. "He's still playing well, too. And he's way happier. I was the same way when I finally made that decision."

In between those playing appearances, Leonard is seeking other opportunities. He's served in a broadcasting role for Golf Channel telecasts three times so far since December, filling the lead analyst role at the Barracuda Championship two weeks ago, and still has two more upcoming gigs on this year's schedule.

Like most things in his life these days, he's willing to see how it goes and isn't too worried about the future.

"I'm peeking behind the curtain; I want to see if it's something I enjoy and if they feel like I do a good job, down the road, who knows?" he says. "I'd love to keep playing and keep my privileges and keep doing something similar, but if things don't work out golf-wise, maybe I do TV for a while, then maybe the candle gets lit again and I decide to play the Champions Tour. Maybe I decide to focus on TV. Whatever I do, it's not going to be 30 weeks a year. I've done that for more than half of my life. I still enjoy a little bit of travel and enjoy being around the game, but I'm not interested in that kind of grind."

Leonard understands that, in many respects, he's a great anomaly.

Golfers on the back-nine of their careers tend to gradually fade away against their will. He's comfortably pressing the fast-forward button, though it can be argued that technological advances in the game and the talents of younger players helped speed up his decision, too.

"I played with Adam Scott on Saturday at Riviera," Leonard explains with a laugh. "I'm thinking, 'OK, this is the reason I'm playing 10 to 12 times, because of the things that he can do on the golf course.' I'm referring to length and the clubs that he hits into par 4s and par 5s and stuff compared to me. My game doesn't translate as well to today's game as it did 15, 20 years ago."

To be fair, Scott is only nine years younger than Leonard, but the point sticks: In the days of persimmon woods and balata balls, Leonard's game might have stood the test of time longer than it does now.

Some of his peers that have witnessed this career trajectory aren't just impressed with the decision to scale back. They're even a little envious.

"I'm more jealous of him than he is of me, because of where he lives," admits Zach Johnson, who visited Leonard in Aspen earlier this year. "I think what Justin is doing is admirable. I respect it.

"His priority right now is living a lifestyle that certainly is of a high integrity. His priority is his kids; that's obvious. They're all happy where they are right now. Their contentment is not superficial. You can tell that they're content. There's a peace about where they are in their lives right now. It's very attractive; it's contagious. You want to be around it as much as you can."

Adds Phil Mickelson: "He's really happy. It's a perfect fit for him and Amanda -- their active, healthy, fun lifestyle. It's a great way to raise their kids to be outdoors and really appreciate the natural environment. It's a perfect fit for them."

Along with fellow Troon champions Mark Calcavecchia and Todd Hamilton, Leonard will receive an honorary membership to the club as part of this week's festivities.

While he calls holing the eventual winning putt at the 1999 Ryder Cup his greatest moment, Leonard makes the distinction that claiming a Claret Jug was the best achievement of his career. He insists, though, that there won't be too much reminiscing in the days leading up to the tournament. He won't visit certain spots on the course and try to walk down memory lane again.

"If there's a putt I missed, I'd be like, man, I need to hit it again," he says with a laugh. "But that Sunday, I made almost everything. So overall, I'll just enjoy being back at Troon. I'll enjoy playing in the Open Championship and everything that it means."

That attitude is a perfect fit for Leonard's newfound persona.

He is a professional golfer who moved to Aspen, who spends his days skiing and hiking, who sports an unkempt beard that helps contradict everything we knew about him for the past two decades. He's relaxed, he's happy and he's no longer worried about the daily rigors of trying to be one of the best players in the world.

"I found a lot of freedom from the game," he says. "It consumes us. I've gotten freedom from that and freedom from expectations. I feel like I've kind of come into the person that I always thought I wanted to be."