This week, one of the best and most anticipated books released - Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. My wife and I LOVE this series and have been engrossed since Sunday, when I couldn't wait the 24 hours more in order to get my hands on a reserved library copy, and went and bought it at Barnes and Noble. I even took the day off on Monday, and was off to the races, page after page - I was at least 300 pages in by the end of the day. I tore myself away to do chores around the house, my mind still grappling with all that I had read. Then, with Rebecca quite a ways behind me, I decided that I was at the point of no return on Tuesday - so I paused and have been allowing her to catch up. And now, here we are - two long days later, (I've been re-reading sections of it just to stay in the frenzy - savoring every last page of this amazing journey with Harry and the gang) and we were able to read it aloud last night, discovering new territory together for the first time since Sunday night when we first obtained it. And I must say, it is quite enjoyable as we experience this saga together - totally worth the agony of waiting. But, I knew that had I finished, I would be busting at the seams to talk about it (and not being able to would be twice the agony I'm sure), so knowing that we'll finish together and can talk about it as we go through the last 150 pages or so, well - its a wonderful and exciting feeling. So, now that I have spoken of my feelings of this incredible ride, I will post a special blog from Rebecca:
As flew into work atop my shiny green dragon (no longer a dinosaur), I felt the breeze in my hair and on my face, causing me to nearly choke on the fresh air that entered my lungs. It was an exhilarating ride, filled with curves, rolling hills, and strenuous climbs. Perspiration beaded on my face and my hair whipped behind me. Now this was living. As I rounded another corner, signaling to others around me to “look out!” (my dragon won’t stop until reaching the final destination), I felt that familiar tugging on my arms a shoulders. Deep lines in my skin not yet visible, made their presence known as they cut and rubbed. I remembered the reason for my sacrifice. Not because dragons are more fuel efficient, although this is true. Not because this is the only mode of transportation and dragon parking is free (chains not included). But because flying is so exciting! Another turn and I felt the treasure on my back poking and prodding. It seemed to grown heavy and burdensome. The dragon let out a huge belch of fire and I was speeding once more…must…reach…destination…I thought back to the heavy, but precious cargo I was carrying. I would have easily given up my food supply for the day to avoid leaving my cherished fortune behind. The end was in sight. With another burst of energy, I leaned forward and urged the dragon to push on. Finally, we came to a stop. The air grew thick and humid and there was no longer a breeze. I dismounted the dragon and turned my attention to my pack. I peered into the bag and saw the bright orange paper smiling back at me. Letting out a sigh, I realized we had made it. I chained up the dragon and walked inside to store my treasure until the time when I would be able to open the tiny world again. Feeling good about my accomplishments, especially so early in the morning, I went about my day…ever mindful of the 759 page saga waiting for me. It’s amazing the sacrifices (and adventures) that we’ll take when it comes to a book, especially for Harry Potter.
Thursday, July 26, 2007
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
The 7-Eleven Bombshell
I have been debating this past week as to what my next entry should be – last Wednesday’s (7-11-07) bombshell statement from the Pope about the Roman Catholic church’s supposed supremacy: (“asserted yesterday that the Roman Catholic Church is the "one church" that Christ "established here on Earth" and that other Christian denominations "cannot be called 'churches' in the proper sense") or the 7-Eleven bombshell statement from Crazy Dwayne, a character I’ve been meaning to write about for sometime now. So, knowing that I could probably go on and on about the Pope’s declaration, I have instead decided to entertain you with another teammate on my “Bus All-Stars” list of peculiar characters. I don’t know this man’s name, but he looks like a Dwayne. And, after hearing his story, the “crazy” was added not to describe his mental state of mind by any means, but rather, the tale he had to tell.
While waiting for the bus several months ago – it might have been last fall – I stood near an older man, probably in his 70’s, at the bus stop. He was wearing a bright red and very colorful Dupont NASCAR jacket – very eye catching. I paced back and forth for at least ten minutes and there was still no sign of the bus. I don’t remember how the silence was broken, but probably either when he asked me the time or one when we shared a collective sigh of frustration. Dwayne started first, “Can’t rely on this bus – third time this week it’s been late.” This was the first time I had taken this bus in a long time, so I said, “Really?” Dwayne muttered more curses under his breath, and kept looking north, hoping to see it coming. I remember thinking, “where is this guy headed?” Then, as we exchanged our grievances about late busses and time lost etc, I was startled to hear the following: “I’m going to quit my job today.” Wow, this old-timer was still working and was ready to call it quits this very day. “Oh yeah? Where do you work?” I asked, curious for some more information. “The 7-eleven, on the corner of Bells Road,” he spat back, clearly miffed at his situation. Without another question, he tore off on his soapbox, venting his frustration with “the man” – that cruel oppressive 7-Eleven manager, a third his age, and his terrible work environment: “They don’t appreciate me – those young punks, treatin’ me the way they do – they don’t give me nothin’ but a hard time. I work damn hard – no time off, not even Thanksgiving. I’m going in and tellin’ them what I think – I’m quittin – I’ve had enough.” I really don’t think I could muster anything other than the polite head nodding and “yeahs” that one says when been completely lost for words. And then, “and the way they treated me and my girlfriend…” Whoa – did he just say girlfriend?! I seriously do not think this man to be a shade under 70 years old. And now he’s got a girlfriend. “She came in one night while I was workin’ - needed to use the restroom – she comes out 45 minutes later, blood all over her hands, drippin’ on the floor and a baby in her hands!” Say WHAT?! I don’t think my eyes have ever opened so wide since hearing that. I gasped and shouted, “A baby?!” “yeah – and we didn’t even know she was pregnant! And those bastards didn’t do nothing! I had to call the ambulance myself – clean everything up – and they never even so much as gave me a break or time off or anything after that! So I’m goin’ in there today and I’m handing in my stuff and quitting.” Seriously. I could not make this stuff up. What can one say to that? I shook my head, laughed hysterically inside – awaiting to share this tale with Rebecca. I saw Crazy Dwayne last week again – looking very strung out. He wasn’t drugged up or anything, but he looked just as hideous. The jacket was replaced with the following wardrobe choices: shoes, calf-high navy blue socks, short blue shorts, a see through white t-shirt, a black mesh hat and long, scraggly hair coming out the sides. He walked down the bus aisle and the recognition took a second to re-register, but then the bombshell story came flooding back in a hurry – and I had to contain my laughter the whole way home. By the looks of him, I’d guess he was washing dishes for a living now – well, that and being “Daddy Dwayne” to one special little 7-Eleven miracle baby.
While waiting for the bus several months ago – it might have been last fall – I stood near an older man, probably in his 70’s, at the bus stop. He was wearing a bright red and very colorful Dupont NASCAR jacket – very eye catching. I paced back and forth for at least ten minutes and there was still no sign of the bus. I don’t remember how the silence was broken, but probably either when he asked me the time or one when we shared a collective sigh of frustration. Dwayne started first, “Can’t rely on this bus – third time this week it’s been late.” This was the first time I had taken this bus in a long time, so I said, “Really?” Dwayne muttered more curses under his breath, and kept looking north, hoping to see it coming. I remember thinking, “where is this guy headed?” Then, as we exchanged our grievances about late busses and time lost etc, I was startled to hear the following: “I’m going to quit my job today.” Wow, this old-timer was still working and was ready to call it quits this very day. “Oh yeah? Where do you work?” I asked, curious for some more information. “The 7-eleven, on the corner of Bells Road,” he spat back, clearly miffed at his situation. Without another question, he tore off on his soapbox, venting his frustration with “the man” – that cruel oppressive 7-Eleven manager, a third his age, and his terrible work environment: “They don’t appreciate me – those young punks, treatin’ me the way they do – they don’t give me nothin’ but a hard time. I work damn hard – no time off, not even Thanksgiving. I’m going in and tellin’ them what I think – I’m quittin – I’ve had enough.” I really don’t think I could muster anything other than the polite head nodding and “yeahs” that one says when been completely lost for words. And then, “and the way they treated me and my girlfriend…” Whoa – did he just say girlfriend?! I seriously do not think this man to be a shade under 70 years old. And now he’s got a girlfriend. “She came in one night while I was workin’ - needed to use the restroom – she comes out 45 minutes later, blood all over her hands, drippin’ on the floor and a baby in her hands!” Say WHAT?! I don’t think my eyes have ever opened so wide since hearing that. I gasped and shouted, “A baby?!” “yeah – and we didn’t even know she was pregnant! And those bastards didn’t do nothing! I had to call the ambulance myself – clean everything up – and they never even so much as gave me a break or time off or anything after that! So I’m goin’ in there today and I’m handing in my stuff and quitting.” Seriously. I could not make this stuff up. What can one say to that? I shook my head, laughed hysterically inside – awaiting to share this tale with Rebecca. I saw Crazy Dwayne last week again – looking very strung out. He wasn’t drugged up or anything, but he looked just as hideous. The jacket was replaced with the following wardrobe choices: shoes, calf-high navy blue socks, short blue shorts, a see through white t-shirt, a black mesh hat and long, scraggly hair coming out the sides. He walked down the bus aisle and the recognition took a second to re-register, but then the bombshell story came flooding back in a hurry – and I had to contain my laughter the whole way home. By the looks of him, I’d guess he was washing dishes for a living now – well, that and being “Daddy Dwayne” to one special little 7-Eleven miracle baby.
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Thunderstorms
This week’s entry is taken from excerpts from my personal journal from over a year ago in the wake of the events following a camping experience in the Outer Banks of North Carolina. The experience helped me to create the “life-in-tents” idea and taught me life changing lessons about faith, trust and peace that have continued to shape, enlighten and comfort me ever since. I have been reflecting back on it recently during what has been a particularly storm-filled year – and it continues to open my eyes and heart to wisdom from above that soothes and guides me within. This perspective has brought me great meaning and purpose in my life and I firmly believe that there should never be any reason to short ourselves on perspectives in this diverse universe. Here now is a portion of that journal entry:
I write of our experience in the Outer Banks and the “near-death” events of May 26th, 2006 while tenting at North Beach Campground. Making it through that night has opened so many learnings of how I ought to live my life as a follower of Christ. I look back now with so much insight into how I behaved through that intense thunderstorm, clinging to so little security inside good ol’ RedHead (the name of our tent.)
The wind was fierce and constant, shaking our tent violently for hours and hours. Without the tent-saving tip from our neighbor (who had already lost one tent) to use the longer 10 inch stakes, we would have certainly been in much worse trouble. But, we purchased the stakes and firmly rooted RedHead into the sand, 10 paces from the Atlantic Ocean. That storm was insane! The wind grew stronger and stronger and shook that tent so much – I can’t even describe it – it was like 2 hands shaking it without letting up – and the sound of it was depressing – you couldn’t stop watching and visualizing the rainfly tearing off and sailing away, but it didn’t. And the thunder and lightning was right on top of us - pink and vivid – frightening. At one point I truly thought I was a goner, rapidly knocking on the car window for Rebecca to unlock my door, my heart was in my throat. I have not been this scared about a storm in all my life. We stayed in the car until it had let up enough to go to the bathroom and “retire” for the night. It was obvious that the storm was not over though, once we were in bed. Wave after wave, the storm continued into the night. Tent whipping and shaking, thunder, lightning, rain – all the elements were there – intense and constant. I lay awake, wide-eyed, nervous, worrisome and scared. It was a terrible weight on my chest all night. I couldn’t sleep – wouldn’t sleep (unlike Rebecca who proved once again that she can sleep through anything!) - until I felt secure. That security would not come from the outside – I knew I needed to reach a peace that transcended all understanding if I was to get any sleep that night. I prayed and prayed – my dialogue with God was continuous – but it was not prayers of faith and trust. They were prayers of worry, fear, hopelessness and doubt. Will the tent hold-up? Should we sleep in the car? Over and over I kept asking God for wisdom to know when to make the decision to abandon ship. I would occasionally pray in little streaks of strength and might – recalling verses that talked about being in “earthly tents” and longing for our heavenly dwellings in the Lord – the more I remembered bible verses the better I felt. The peace finally began to come after Rebecca awoke and calmed me and my fears. She truly introduced the solution to my worrisome night. She made me reminisce about the past – of good times, of Canada and Muskie fishing and the time I caught my first one, and all the happiness and feelings that had accompanied me then. My mind had finally escaped its current tribulations and brought me back to happier and fear free times. My mind was renewed, Rebecca had unlocked the key to not focusing on the world but rather on what is unseen – the eternal and the divine part of this life. Peace followed and healing was on its way.
After getting some much needed sleep, I awoke again to yet another round of wind and gales – gusts slamming into our tried and true tent. Fear had gripped me once again. I, through the help of Rebecca, had defeated it once, but the night was not over yet. I did not know how much more the tent or I could take. I truly thought it would tear apart at any moment. The sound was sickening. Then my gift of analogy returned. I pictured and compared the tent to us, and its struggle with the storm was like us and our life long struggles and trials on this journey. There were times of peace and stillness, and there were times of conflict, challenge and distress. My prayers became more God-centered – I recited verses to myself: “…struck down but not destroyed…” I sang this over and over. I began to slowly trust Him again with my life – I made Rebecca pray Luther’s evening prayer: “protect us through the night from all danger and harm…” I finally saw that though this storm would surely continue, my faith would overcome it if I let it. I finally tried letting it. I prayed to God that I trusted Him, that he would give me faith, help my unbelief and grant me peace – to trust Him with all my heart and lean not on my own understanding. “We live by faith, not by sight.” And that’s what I finally did. It took me much longer than it should have…I realized I was letting the waves sink me – and now I had realized that the wind shaking our tent ever so violently didn’t matter – if I was to survive the night (this life) in one piece without worrying into oblivion, I needed to release my mind from what it sees – the here and now of that storm – and allow it to be transformed, renewed by the power and peace of Christ, in order to live this eternal life we’ve been given.
The storm did rage on all through the night, but once I had seen the truth, been softened to what was really at hand, I slept. I remember praying “that whatever happens, I trust you God. My faith and hope are with you.” And with that, peace (sleep) came. The wind was still blowing in the morning, but oh what a difference I was beginning to see in my attitude towards it.
“We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed but not in despair; persecuted but not abandoned; struck down but not destroyed…for while we are in this tent, we groan and are burdened…we do not lose heart…For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.”
2 Corinthians 4 & 5.
I write of our experience in the Outer Banks and the “near-death” events of May 26th, 2006 while tenting at North Beach Campground. Making it through that night has opened so many learnings of how I ought to live my life as a follower of Christ. I look back now with so much insight into how I behaved through that intense thunderstorm, clinging to so little security inside good ol’ RedHead (the name of our tent.)
The wind was fierce and constant, shaking our tent violently for hours and hours. Without the tent-saving tip from our neighbor (who had already lost one tent) to use the longer 10 inch stakes, we would have certainly been in much worse trouble. But, we purchased the stakes and firmly rooted RedHead into the sand, 10 paces from the Atlantic Ocean. That storm was insane! The wind grew stronger and stronger and shook that tent so much – I can’t even describe it – it was like 2 hands shaking it without letting up – and the sound of it was depressing – you couldn’t stop watching and visualizing the rainfly tearing off and sailing away, but it didn’t. And the thunder and lightning was right on top of us - pink and vivid – frightening. At one point I truly thought I was a goner, rapidly knocking on the car window for Rebecca to unlock my door, my heart was in my throat. I have not been this scared about a storm in all my life. We stayed in the car until it had let up enough to go to the bathroom and “retire” for the night. It was obvious that the storm was not over though, once we were in bed. Wave after wave, the storm continued into the night. Tent whipping and shaking, thunder, lightning, rain – all the elements were there – intense and constant. I lay awake, wide-eyed, nervous, worrisome and scared. It was a terrible weight on my chest all night. I couldn’t sleep – wouldn’t sleep (unlike Rebecca who proved once again that she can sleep through anything!) - until I felt secure. That security would not come from the outside – I knew I needed to reach a peace that transcended all understanding if I was to get any sleep that night. I prayed and prayed – my dialogue with God was continuous – but it was not prayers of faith and trust. They were prayers of worry, fear, hopelessness and doubt. Will the tent hold-up? Should we sleep in the car? Over and over I kept asking God for wisdom to know when to make the decision to abandon ship. I would occasionally pray in little streaks of strength and might – recalling verses that talked about being in “earthly tents” and longing for our heavenly dwellings in the Lord – the more I remembered bible verses the better I felt. The peace finally began to come after Rebecca awoke and calmed me and my fears. She truly introduced the solution to my worrisome night. She made me reminisce about the past – of good times, of Canada and Muskie fishing and the time I caught my first one, and all the happiness and feelings that had accompanied me then. My mind had finally escaped its current tribulations and brought me back to happier and fear free times. My mind was renewed, Rebecca had unlocked the key to not focusing on the world but rather on what is unseen – the eternal and the divine part of this life. Peace followed and healing was on its way.
After getting some much needed sleep, I awoke again to yet another round of wind and gales – gusts slamming into our tried and true tent. Fear had gripped me once again. I, through the help of Rebecca, had defeated it once, but the night was not over yet. I did not know how much more the tent or I could take. I truly thought it would tear apart at any moment. The sound was sickening. Then my gift of analogy returned. I pictured and compared the tent to us, and its struggle with the storm was like us and our life long struggles and trials on this journey. There were times of peace and stillness, and there were times of conflict, challenge and distress. My prayers became more God-centered – I recited verses to myself: “…struck down but not destroyed…” I sang this over and over. I began to slowly trust Him again with my life – I made Rebecca pray Luther’s evening prayer: “protect us through the night from all danger and harm…” I finally saw that though this storm would surely continue, my faith would overcome it if I let it. I finally tried letting it. I prayed to God that I trusted Him, that he would give me faith, help my unbelief and grant me peace – to trust Him with all my heart and lean not on my own understanding. “We live by faith, not by sight.” And that’s what I finally did. It took me much longer than it should have…I realized I was letting the waves sink me – and now I had realized that the wind shaking our tent ever so violently didn’t matter – if I was to survive the night (this life) in one piece without worrying into oblivion, I needed to release my mind from what it sees – the here and now of that storm – and allow it to be transformed, renewed by the power and peace of Christ, in order to live this eternal life we’ve been given.
The storm did rage on all through the night, but once I had seen the truth, been softened to what was really at hand, I slept. I remember praying “that whatever happens, I trust you God. My faith and hope are with you.” And with that, peace (sleep) came. The wind was still blowing in the morning, but oh what a difference I was beginning to see in my attitude towards it.
“We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed but not in despair; persecuted but not abandoned; struck down but not destroyed…for while we are in this tent, we groan and are burdened…we do not lose heart…For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.”
2 Corinthians 4 & 5.
Monday, July 2, 2007
Waiting to Soar
The quote "One cannot consent to creep when one feels an impulse to soar" (Hellen Keller) must have been written in relation to the many complaints voiced over time in relation to roller coaster line waiting at amusement parks across the globe. Well, even if Ms. Keller did not intend for her quote to be compared to my experience at Busch Gardens Europe in Williamsburg, Virginia - that is certainly how I felt yesterday as I consented to creep ride after ride after ride. Yes, I am a thrill seeking, speed, loops and leg dangling roller coaster fanatic - I love the sensation of a good coaster on a worry free summer day. Yesterday was no exception - my first time to Busch Gardens was awesome - I thoroughly enjoyed every minute of it (excluding the 3-4 hours of waiting in line.) As for the rest of the 7 minutes of rides or attractions that we enjoyed for a minimal fee of 55 dollars plus parking - nothing but positive feelings and happiness. Good times indeed.
So, I can definitely disagree on certain levels with Ms. Keller - it seems that one can absolutely consent to creep when one feels an impulse to soar - just take the millions of visitors every year to parks like Busch Gardens or Six Flags. We all consent - volunteer - to creep in endless switchbacks on a tortorous crawl towards some amazing thrill rides that last a fraction of the time we waited for them. Why do we do this? What on earth would say 'yes' to this inside our brains? Is it not crazy to convince ourselves that waiting in the hot sun amongst complete strangers for an hour or longer in order to ride a roller coaster ride that will last no longer than two minutes (usually less than that if you take out the time it takes to climb the first hill)? YES! I am completely crazy to do so! And yet, I can't help it. I must. There is a feeling deep inside that yearns for the lightning fast adventure and mystery that is the coaster. I cannot help but put myself through the absolute hell of line waiting, time after time. And, I have made it considerably harder on myself lately- I 've been going it alone. My wife lovingly waves goodbye to me as I enter the line - and sits and waits patiently for me to quench my thirst for adventure. She too, is crazy. She is getting nothing out of her waiting. Her only satisfaction is in my enjoyment, which is absolutely amazing. I love this woman. Her discipline to abstain from the world of coasters is inspiring - knowing her limits, she sits it out rather than joining me in line in order to ride and then get sick from the 30 second blitzkrieg of adrenaline. My stomach can handle it, but lately, it seems my tolerance and patience is growing weak.
I wait and I wait and I wait some more. I eavesdrop on the conversations around me. Some girls from Tennessee - where are they from, that accent is strong?! - are with their boyfriends and talking about the sales tax in Virginia. A group of thugs behind me are playing with their cell phones. People watching. That's all I can do, I can't even think - or even pray - I can't do anything constructive whatsoever, I have to just dumb down my mind and stand and creep every 3 minutes - almost to the turn - YES - a new view, woohoo! It's really quite pathetic. And then, finally, after what has seemed like hours of mindless boredom and waiting, I arrive at the corrale that will place me on this adventure in a mere 4 or 5 minutes. I am simultaneously asking and telling myself that it will be worth it. And it is - oh my friends - it most certainly is. The joy, laughter, fear and excitement that the drops, twists and bursts of speed send rushing through my body - YES - I exit in pure satisfaction. I tell my wife all about it and I gulp water for my throat aches from all the yelling. Ahh, what a high it is. And then we walk to the next ride, and slowly, the high disappears and I am back in the hell of line waiting.
It's much better when I am not alone. Even if the conversation is minimal, being with someone is much much easier and more enjoyable while trapped in the confines of the lines. So, even when I feel the impulse to soar solo once more, I decide to hold out for a ride that I can enjoy with my wife. And the joint rides are more enjoyable too - the shared experience overpowers the solo one hands down. I love experiencing something amazing and fun with a friend, family member or my wife. I will still brave the line occassionally on my own, and enjoy the thrill of the power coasters that are too much for my wife, but for now, I'll try to catch one when there's like a 15 minute wait instead of 50.
In the end, I know that all of the above is truly a metaphor for life. I could spell it out in detail- but I think for now, I will just leave it at that. 95% of life is spent in line, waiting for the next high - the next adventure - and then, in the blink of an eye, its over. I'd prefer to spend that 95% with those that I love - and then to share our experiences together, whether joyful or challenging outcomes - because in the end, that is what is most important.
So, I can definitely disagree on certain levels with Ms. Keller - it seems that one can absolutely consent to creep when one feels an impulse to soar - just take the millions of visitors every year to parks like Busch Gardens or Six Flags. We all consent - volunteer - to creep in endless switchbacks on a tortorous crawl towards some amazing thrill rides that last a fraction of the time we waited for them. Why do we do this? What on earth would say 'yes' to this inside our brains? Is it not crazy to convince ourselves that waiting in the hot sun amongst complete strangers for an hour or longer in order to ride a roller coaster ride that will last no longer than two minutes (usually less than that if you take out the time it takes to climb the first hill)? YES! I am completely crazy to do so! And yet, I can't help it. I must. There is a feeling deep inside that yearns for the lightning fast adventure and mystery that is the coaster. I cannot help but put myself through the absolute hell of line waiting, time after time. And, I have made it considerably harder on myself lately- I 've been going it alone. My wife lovingly waves goodbye to me as I enter the line - and sits and waits patiently for me to quench my thirst for adventure. She too, is crazy. She is getting nothing out of her waiting. Her only satisfaction is in my enjoyment, which is absolutely amazing. I love this woman. Her discipline to abstain from the world of coasters is inspiring - knowing her limits, she sits it out rather than joining me in line in order to ride and then get sick from the 30 second blitzkrieg of adrenaline. My stomach can handle it, but lately, it seems my tolerance and patience is growing weak.
I wait and I wait and I wait some more. I eavesdrop on the conversations around me. Some girls from Tennessee - where are they from, that accent is strong?! - are with their boyfriends and talking about the sales tax in Virginia. A group of thugs behind me are playing with their cell phones. People watching. That's all I can do, I can't even think - or even pray - I can't do anything constructive whatsoever, I have to just dumb down my mind and stand and creep every 3 minutes - almost to the turn - YES - a new view, woohoo! It's really quite pathetic. And then, finally, after what has seemed like hours of mindless boredom and waiting, I arrive at the corrale that will place me on this adventure in a mere 4 or 5 minutes. I am simultaneously asking and telling myself that it will be worth it. And it is - oh my friends - it most certainly is. The joy, laughter, fear and excitement that the drops, twists and bursts of speed send rushing through my body - YES - I exit in pure satisfaction. I tell my wife all about it and I gulp water for my throat aches from all the yelling. Ahh, what a high it is. And then we walk to the next ride, and slowly, the high disappears and I am back in the hell of line waiting.
It's much better when I am not alone. Even if the conversation is minimal, being with someone is much much easier and more enjoyable while trapped in the confines of the lines. So, even when I feel the impulse to soar solo once more, I decide to hold out for a ride that I can enjoy with my wife. And the joint rides are more enjoyable too - the shared experience overpowers the solo one hands down. I love experiencing something amazing and fun with a friend, family member or my wife. I will still brave the line occassionally on my own, and enjoy the thrill of the power coasters that are too much for my wife, but for now, I'll try to catch one when there's like a 15 minute wait instead of 50.
In the end, I know that all of the above is truly a metaphor for life. I could spell it out in detail- but I think for now, I will just leave it at that. 95% of life is spent in line, waiting for the next high - the next adventure - and then, in the blink of an eye, its over. I'd prefer to spend that 95% with those that I love - and then to share our experiences together, whether joyful or challenging outcomes - because in the end, that is what is most important.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)