He’s obsessed with jumping off the diving board.
Still he puzzles me. After his life-preserver sends him rocketing back to the surface, he looks as though he’s drowning. He nearly rips his eyes out of their sockets, gasps for air, and smears snot across his cheeks. To any first time observer, Judah has just taken his first and last plunge. Yet as soon as he pull himself up the ladder and touches the deck, he’s making a B-line for the diving board, shamelessly cutting in line. To the front.
Female life guards everywhere are smitten with his dimples, and 4-year-olds who turn back from the edge only to allow him through are in awe of his capacity for bravery.
Me? I’m just shocked that something so visibly strenuous on him is something he so adores doing.
And I wonder: do I embrace painful adventures the same way? Does the sense and thrill of the new and the daring outweigh the discomfort that sometimes results?
Some things are worth doing even if they hurt. Worse, however, are endeavors we fail to engage in because of the discomfort we think we are going to endure. Unless we try, we’ll never know, and that is far worse a consequence than I care to live with.
The key to living large is embracing the painful and the pleasurable with gusto. Without it we may miss some of the most precious experiences known to man. The greatest adventurers I know exchange pain for the pursuit of life.