Today I was out in the gray chilliness that is Winter in Connecticut and doing some pushes and pulls with my beloved Prowler. I strained and struggled and fought it with all I could for a shade under 30 minutes before calling it a day. As I completed the last push of the day, I finished and immediately dropped into a semi-kneeling position, almost like genuflecting. However, I successfully kept my breakfast down. But you know what I thought to myself?
“Huh… no puking yet again… maybe I’m not doing this hard enough.”
Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the insanity that is my noggin. Please keep your arms and legs inside the vehicle at all times because I really can’t be held responsible for what may happen otherwise.
Now why on earth would I think that? Seriously. First of all, I really hate puking. I know that is not a penetrating insight on par with the work of Plato or Immanuel Kant, but I mean I really hate it. Second, how can anyone rationally think that puking could be a sign of anything remotely good or positive? It’s like those kooky powerlifters who seem to enjoy the fact they get blood shins from doing deadlifts where the bar drags along their legs. That can’t be sane… can it?
I’ll tell you why I think this… because I often wonder, if you don’t bear scars, have you really tried hard enough? Or put another way, have you truly found the thing you are just so passionate about that you are willing to run the risk of skinned knees or puking or falling short in the process? Willing to run the risk of embarrassment over not coming through as a total success because you just love the process so much that winning or losing is a distant second?
I wonder this because I believe (at least in my own personal case) that for things that truly and deeply matter to me, I am willing to risk the scars or the falling short or the skinned knees or possible ridicule of polite society. I know if my heart was not truly in whatever this “thing” may be, I wouldn’t be willing to run the risk of any of that. Who wants any of that for something that doesn’t stir up the passion of your soul? Not this kid right here, I’ll tell you that much.
The physical acts of which I speak and the scars that can accompany them are just one tool or expression of what any person walking this beautiful planet can be passionate about. As you and I well know, not all scars are physical and those that are not can certainly mark you more deeply than ones etched upon your skin. But the fact still remains… that for those things we care most about… our families, our faith, our ideals or whatever it may be… we will put ourselves out there and run the risk of the scars.
I’m still working on this all the time… the process to find my true passions for all aspects of my life. It’s certainly not easy because it’s rare to just wake up one day and think “By Jove! I’ve got it!” and just know what you were meant to do or who you were meant to be. So I keep plugging away at those things I know I love and by virtue of the struggle, sweat and scars, I hope to find it.
Even if I may have to get a little sick to do it.