Today, just two days before Thanksgiving, my friend David is doing something bold and daring.
After almost nine months unemployed, David is the newly named President of an enterprise in New England. The new job forces him to commute each week from Columbus, while his wife and two teenaged kids try to maintain a normal routine while keeping the house here neat enough to show and sell.
Despite the good fortune of a great new assignment, his separation from his family is tough. All the family’s stress from this situation is compounded by David’s weekly absences. David has been feeling drained and lonely by the huge demands on him from a new, challenging assignment and no one to come home to at night. His “home” is a hotel room.
Three weeks ago, David was shown a venerable old townhouse in the historic quarter of his new city within walking distance of a charming, compact shopping district. The townhouse was not for sale, only for rent, but it was available immediately and in a school district he and his wife had targeted for the kids. The monthly rent was ridiculous, but the owners seemed willing to negotiate. The square footage of the townhouse was tiny compared to their old home, and it lacked the features they’d grown used to.
I wasn’t “ideal”…
David thought the kids would “hate” it…
The “plan” was to sell the house here before they moved…
And he brought the brochure back to Columbus to share it with his wife anyway.
Later that weekend, after the whole family had carefully reconsidered their original plan, weighed the pros and cons of an immediate move, David was stuck. He wanted the family with him, but he worried that showing an empty house here might prolong its going unsold in this down market. It helped a bit that the kids were at least lukewarm, not cold, to the idea of moving now.
Finally, his wife asked him: “Where’s your sense of adventure? Let’s go.”
Her simple remark hit him like a ton of bricks. God bless our truth tellers. He asked himself, “Where, just exactly where, has my ’sense of adventure’ gone?” He couldn’t remember the last time he actually took a real risk. Even taking his new job, a plum opportunity for anyone in this economy, involved very little downside risk for a guy who’d been unemployed. Awakened to the truth, David realized that the lack of risk-taking in his life had made him cautious, tentative, and bland.
Today, David and his family are moving into their new home. Together, as they should be, again. “Venturing”–as in risking, and MOVING anyway.
Human beings are designed for movement, risk taking, stress, and growth. On all dimensions–physical, emotional, intellectual, and spiritual–we atrophy if we remain in our “comfort zones” too long.
Our bodies are designed to move, yet most of us don’t; not nearly enough to avoid muscle atrophy and fat build up. Lots of creature comforts, comfort food, and comfy couches surround us…
Our minds and brains are crafted to stretch and learn and think. Yet most of us arrive at a level of adequate competence in our early 30’s and then stop. Ask folks you know the old question: “Read any good books lately?” and make note of their answers…
Our spirits are fitted for flight, yet most rarely leave the hangar. We’re too busy, too distracted, too worried to sit still and be. When was the last time your soul stirred to a sunrise, a movement from a symphony, a child’s sigh…a prayer?
We are made to love, and that always involves risk. As C.S. Lewis said, “To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket–safe, dark, airless, motionless–it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable.”
Growth is impossible without stressing, stretching, stirring, and risking ourselves.
How big is your comfort zone?
When was the last time you left it deliberately? How did you handle the awkwardness, vulnerability, and discomfort?
Where’s your sense of adventure?
What are you afraid of?
