Life In Perspective

Those close to me know my "Fat Bob" story. When you're 18, concern for the feelings and perceptions of others doesn't matter, and for some, the same could be said of a 28 year old. But not me. My "Fat Bob" story no longer holds relevance. Here's why: (I'm still going to relay the story after this next point)

While walking Vince this morning I realized that happiness is different for each of us. We all find satisfaction in different things. Ali discovered that smiles after taking a bite of her Molten Lava Cakes, Apple Crisp, and other delights brought a smile to her own demeanor. I find that a clean garage, vehicles, and kitchen make me smile. And this morning I realized that, for Vince, there is nothing better than peeing on things, and deficating in the most beautiful yards.

I brought baggies, because I know this. [Side Point: Anything you love, you must pick up doo after]

So, happiness is in different boxes for different people, and everything said more than a few years ago makes us go red in the face, because we've developed and see the errors in our ways. A few years from now, I will delete this post, as it will remind me of my foolishness. But not to steal Colin's favorite dilemma to write about.

Back to Fat Bob. When I was 18, I talked with a Marine Recruiter. I had broad goals for my life, but no plan for how to get there. I heard what he said, and liked the idea of becoming something better (skill-hound) and getting out of dodge. But it wasn't until I was driving home from the high school that I made my decision. I was on 33 West, stopped at the light on 3rd Street in Goshen, when I looked in my rear view. There, in a gold Honda Accord, was Fat Bob. His real name could have been anything. He wore glasses, was thinning on the top, and was looking directly at me. I noticed that (presumably) his wife was next to him, bickering at him. There was a small boy and a smaller girl bouncing about in the back seat, restrained only by the final give of their seatbelts. Fat Bob's eyes, they said "Go." And didn't mean push the gas.

They meant have some adventure. Do whatever, sign up for some unknown. Dive headlong into uncertainty.

And that's what I did.

So here's where perspective comes in. Little did I know that adventure is what I'd get. I didn't anticipate what's happened in ten years. All of my guesses have been not only off-the-mark, but not even firing down the same range.

And I guess adventure is what I've had. As a noun, adventure is a risky undertaking, the ending of which is uncertain. At 18 I would have thought it meant open seas, mud and trees, fast vehicles, a few bullets flying by, and resigning yourself to deal with it all.

Only my friends have had to deal with bullets.

These have been really long posts lately. I'll cut it out after this.

So in looking back, I'll list some of the things I wouldn't have listed at 18:

1. Giving my heart so completely.
2. Getting married.
3. Becoming a widower.
4. And now I'm drawing blanks.

My adventure was Alison. Though I thought I wanted rappelling and long hikes, marksmanship training and leadership; the challenge I found most satisfaction in was exactly (well, not exactly) what Fat Bob had. Love and a wife. The story of our love was my great adventure.

And I'd do it all again. Over and over.

I'd pick up doo.