I've always enjoyed reading, but I'm not sure my comprehension level is all that good. When I read, my mind will wander. My eyes and brain are seeing the words but I find I can also think of other things while reading. Because of this feature, I often read things and come away with thoughts that may or may not be in total harmony with what the author is trying to say.
Recently, I read a book by Jon Gordon titled, "The Seed." The subtitle is, "Finding Purpose and Happiness in Life and Work." In an acorn shell, the book is about Josh who has lost the passion and happiness at work. His boss gives him two weeks off to find out if he really wants to work there or if he wants to move on to something else. Josh ends up visiting a corn maze with some friends. As they race to find the end of the maze Josh gets lost. As he is pondering and searching for a way out, he runs into an old farmer who asks him if he is lost. Josh confides that he can't find his way out of the maze. The farmer then asks if he is lost in life. Josh admits he is. The farmer gives Josh a seed with the instruction to find the right place to plant it and his purpose in life will be revealed. Josh remembers back in his past to times when he was happy. He travels back to where he attended college and worked in a restaurant. He remembers the happiness and fulfillment of those times but also realizes that he can't go back and determines the past is not the place to plant the seed. He then looks to the future and considers changing jobs. He has some offers and entertains one that he thinks will bring the satisfaction, passion, and growth he is looking for. A plane delay keeps him from getting to the interview and he decided it might be a sign that it was not the right move. Josh ends up discovering that he needs to plant the seed in the present. That he needs to find his passion and purpose with the here-and-now. He goes back to his employer and tells his boss he is ready to do the best he can with the job he has and to rekindle and maintain the passion for life right where he is.
"The Seed" has more wisdom and insights and I discovered that I sometimes get in the same dilemma as Josh. I think at times we all have a little Josh thinking in us. I know I've looked back to the past and wondered how to capture the passion and happiness that was there. I've also spent time worrying about where I am in life and if I missed my mark. There is nothing wrong with planning for the future, setting goals, and dreaming. In fact, planning and goals are essential. But I realize that the present is where the passion and purpose of life really takes place. There is nothing we can do about the past--it's over. Oh, it's fun to remember and it's important to look back and learn, but we can't live the past. We can't live the future either--not right now. What we have is today. Today is the place to plant our seed, to live the passion, to experience the happiness of our lives.
I've decided that without knowing it, I've planted my seed in the outdoors. It is the place I have found and continue to find my passion. I know I find happiness outside. I have found peace, serenity, and beauty in simple things. Planting my seed outdoors has given me the ability to see. I mean this in a humble way. It's hard to explain but I will try.
In my early twenties, I spent most of my ventures alone. The majority of this time was in pursuit of trout. I loved the solitude of finding an overlooked creek or stream and spending the better portion of a day fly fishing. During these forays, I found myself not only concentrating on the water, the bugs and the trout, but eventually noticing other things. It took practice but as I moved and hiked along the streams I learned to take in the trail (always looking for snakes), quickly scannng the streamside brush, looking toward the hillsides up to the ridges and peaks and then back to a focus on the trail or stream. With the first initial glancing, I would quickly gather information about terrain type, vegetation, and weather. If I noticed something of particular interest I might pause, focus, and concentrate on it for a minute. In an almost subconscious way, I would register what I was seeing and log it away in my brain. If I felt I needed more detail about what my eyes and mind were picking up, I might actually stop and spend time thinking and analyzing. Along with this "seeing", I began to use my ears more too. I knew what type of water was around the next bend in the river by listening. Each different stretch of water could be identified by the sound it made. The quietness of a long smooth stretch, the bubbling giggle of riffles, the soft pound and pour of plunge pools, and the loud laughter of rapids soon became very distinguishable by hearing alone. I no longer have the keen hearing that I once had and pinpointing the sound of a distant coyote howl is more difficult. But I still love to listen to the sounds found in the mountains and deserts.
I've had to smile to myself a little bit as I've been hiking with my wife a lot more. We would get to a place on the trail where we would take a rest and I would comment to her about a particular footprint in the mud or the sound of the bees as we passed through a group of wildflowers, or maybe the woodpecker that was clinging to the side of a dead aspen tree, or the hawk that soared up over a ridge; many of these things she had not noticed. As we hike now, I have started to point them out as we go. While I'm not good at knowing all the names of these things, I do try to identify them when I can. Most often, I will point them out for their beauty or for the fact that they are just there. I might use common generic names--a hawk is a hawk, a red, orange, yellow or purple wildflower is a wildflower, an evergreen tree is an evergreen tree. I hope to get better at specific identification, but I don't think it is necessary or as important as knowing the relationships these things have to us as human beings and to the environment in which they are found.
I planted my seed in the outdoor world, I think in part, because it is a place I don't feel judged. Even though nature can be inhospitable at times, I always feel welcome.
