This is not a post about anything biblical or theological. It's just something that hit me yesterday.
I am in BC visiting with Krystl's family. So far it has been a great time. There were about 20 people at Krystl's grandparent's house for dinner so it was a full house. I hopped from person to person having all sorts of conversations. I was able to indulge in some museum talk with one of the uncles, discussing different aviation museums. He told me that his dad had a plane that was a postal plane in the Winnipeg area in the early days of aviation. Because of its significance to the area the Western Aviation Museum in Winnipeg was trying to convince them to donate it to them. They were quite irate when the plane was donated elsewhere. The conversation ended on one I'd my favorite topics, Howard Hughes' Hercules (The Spruce Goose). The rest of my conversations that night were as varied as you'd expect. Each person a wealth of experiences and stories. My favorite being those of Krystl's grandfather, who is always ready with stories of years ago, times in the war, and life afterward.
As I engaged in all these conversations something started to bother me. I started to notice a pattern I had never noticed before. People would tell me of their stories and experiences and I had the same answer over and over, "yeah, I have a friend who...". Over and over I'd tell second hand stories to fill on the gaps of all the things I've never done. It started to grind on me, over and over again. I started to feel like a man who published a great book by stealing chapters from great authors. Each chapter an obvious confession of his own inaction.
It's not my intention to whine, nor is this a build up to a grand New Years resolution. I think through things better when I write about them, and the topic is more settled in my mind when I've put it to paper (figuratively or literally). So, don't let the timing of this blog lead you to believe that I'm giving into the false gratification of a New Years resolution, the timing and conviction is only brought on by the concentrated volume of conversations I've had in the last two days.
I'm tired of being lake, collecting stories from all the rivers that I'm fortunate enough to have flowing into my life. As much as I love the stories, I don't want to just sit the rest of my life telling second hand adventures. I want to have my time flowing over rocks, rushing through narrow passages, tasting rain from different skies. I want to rush and explode into the white water rapids that people love to hear about.
Hopefully soon I will be able to stand on even ground in conversations with friends and family, trading stories first hand.