Tuesday, May 10, 2011

A Sure Thing

Without a second thought, she wades waste-deep into the river, bends over and begins sweeping the murky water with her hands, but all she encounters is sand, grit and the occasional extension of aquatic vegetation. Her heart pounds in her chest, the increased blood flow turning her face pink, then red, then crimson. She shouts, "William! William! Tell me where you are!"

She stops thrashing and listens for a response.

Nothing.

She repeats the process for what seems an eternity, thrashing, shouting, listening.

Exasperated, she stands upright and looks up and down the river searching for any sign of him. Perhaps she's got it wrong. Perhaps he's wondered into the woods or is hiding in the campsite. Maybe she's just overreacting?

She sees something, a spot where course of the river changs ever so slightly as though flowing around a submerged rock. She labors to the spot unable to shout, gasping for oxygen to supply the torrent of blood that flowing past her lungs. She bends and reaches for the rock, sweeping her hands wildly. Her hand brushes against...




A funny thing about human nature is that we are simultaneously attracted to and repelled by certainty. In some instances, certainty is comforting; in others it's boring. Oftentimes the certain things that once provided comfort become boring things that repel us until they're gone and magically become attractive.

In my experience, the best things are those which are uncertain--no, make that "unlikely." There's something about the pursuit of the unlikely or the impossible that is immensely appealing. Unfortunately, most of us have been conditioned to pursue the unlikely or impossible only out of necessity. We stick with the certain and occasionally, when we can no longer handle the monotony of certainty, we'll risk the uncertain.

When you think about it, you'd likely never read a book or watch a movie where everything was certain. In some ways each of our lives is a book or a movie. Some religious folk believe that we are all being cosmically documented and that the movies of our lives will be played for all others to see at the end of all things.

How would you change your life if there were a film crew following you day to day preparing a documentary? What would you differently if your day to day were to become a book you would want read? How often (outside the case of necessity) do you invite the uncertain or the unlikely or the impossible into your life?

Happy Tuesday,
Teflon

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