When Nothing Is Sacred, All Is Consumed

In my mind, there are two particular moments of awe I will never forget. The first was several years ago during the Perseid meteor shower on a perfect August night. A few friends and I had camped out at what's become a favorite a spot of mine among the ridge lines of the mountains in Central Pennsylvania between State College and a small town called Huntingdon. We were sprawled out, each one of us, on our own spot on the bare rocks that jutted out from the trees. The air was warm but dry for August, and the moon was still hiding below the horizon, giving us a little time of perfect darkness.

I've been all over the country--SoCal, Pacific Northwest, the northeast, the southeast, the Smokies, Wyoming, Montana--and I have never, ever seen the stars as brilliant and breathtaking as I did that night in Nowheresville, Pennsylvania. I remember popping bing cherries into my mouth and lying with the cool rock on my back as I watched meteor after meteor streak across the sky with the deepest, most complex canopy of stars behind them. Some shooting stars were so bright, they honestly scared us, left our jaws dropped.

The other moment is the first time I stood in the presence of the Tetons. A few years ago, I took a trip with a group of friends to Wyoming and Montana. On our way up to Big Sky, we decided to hike and camp out in the Tetons. I thought the first sight of these legitimate, craggy, beautiful mountains was enough to make me want to die happy on the spot, but the best was yet to come.

We started at Jenny Lake and hiked toward what's known as Cascade Canyon. Once we passed the mouth of the canyon and reached our campsite which was nestled between three incredible mountain ranges, this is what I saw:

It's like we had been swallowed by beautiful giants. I irrationally (or maybe rationally) decided in that moment that I would never leave that canyon. Those mountains would be the only friends I'd ever need again.

I did leave eventually, though begrudgingly.

It's moments like the ones I just described, in places like those, (and honestly, hours and hours of watching Ken Burns' The National Parks: America's Best Idea on Netflix) that give me such great appreciation for national parks and the preservation of wild, beautiful, sacred places. A few great men and women fought fiercely to keep some of the most incredible places in our country from being razed and bulldozed by the "American Dream" and our ever-increasing appetites for expansion.

There's a line from a Switchfoot song I love; it says, "When nothing is sacred, all is consumed."

I can't help but think how true that line has to be for all of us, nature-lovers or not, as we pursue the life we dream of in the kind of world we dream of roaming.

There are parts of our lives we've allowed to be consumed--our schedules, our wallets, our energy, our hearts, our affections--because we don't see them as sacred. These aren't areas in our lives that might benefit from us defending them--they're areas that need us to defend them.

Let me the first to admit that that I've given over so much of my life to these tiny matchstick flames called obligation and auto-pilot. They seemed harmless at first, but as time has gone on, those little fingers of flames have grown and grown, eating everything in sight.

My schedule became full of stuff I don't even care about. My time with friends wasn't just few and far between--half the time, I wasn't even with people I actually wanted to be around, and I was doing stuff with them that was boring me out of my mind. I had meetings all. the. time. My diet was mostly Wendy's (which sounds awesome at first...and then it becomes really not awesome). The number of books I was reading was zero. The amount of time I spent in the gym was zero. The amount of creative energy or adventurous spirit I had was zero.

It's shocking how fast all can become consumed.

Your "consumption" might look different than mine, and so might your sacred stuff. That's fine--your dreams probably look a little different, too. But we all have to reach a point where we see the fire eating at the life of our dreams and decide to finally extinguish it.

Let's make room in our lives for more proverbial (or literal) stargazing while the rocks cool our backs and the meteors light up our faces. Let's defend, with ferocity, our need to stand before the snow-capped mountains and have fresh, new dreams placed in our hearts.

Let's take back what's sacred.

There is a beautiful, adventure-filled life waiting for us to fight for it.

On Hope: I May Have a Problem

"May your choices reflect your hopes, not your fears." -Nelson Mandela

Ever since I first stumbled upon these words on January 17th, I haven't stopped thinking about them. They've climbed out of my computer screen and, like vines, have wrapped and twisted themselves all around me.

For almost two weeks now, I've wrestled with the words and what they might actually look like in my life. What choices am I making out of fear? What choices could I make out of hope? Which choices are wise, cautious choices and which ones are steeped in sanitized safety?

I have a dark little secret I've been hiding.

Every time I've sat down to grapple with these questions, it's as if I've taken a small sip of hope--I like to envision it with a bit of tonic water, some ice, and a squeeze of lime. I've been holding the glass close to my lips these past two weeks, letting the contents sting my nostrils. Eventually, sips quickened and became gulps. I've kept pouring into my glass, cutting more limes, refilling the ice trays. And after days and days and days of downing this stuff, when I finally went to stand up, the room was spinning. I started thinking wild thoughts. I could feel the liquid courage coursing through my veins.

Friends, I'm completely, shamelessly drunk on hope.

I'm gone, man.

I'm so gone, I don't even care what making hopeful decisions "looks like" anymore. You see, when you've had too much hope to drink, you don't worry about the details anymore. You say whatever hope brings rushing out of your mouth. You throw your chair down, march in a crooked line to the dance floor, and start moving your body in awkward and glorious freedom. It doesn't matter what people think at that point--hope has taken over.

I know some of you are laughing at me. I know some of you are shaking your head, thinking, So sad. So naive. If only he could see what we're seeing. It's quite embarrassing, really.

I'm okay with that. I'm okay that you think almost all of those things; you can even go as far as to feel pity for me. I know I'm stumbling around, eyes glazed over with dreams, moving my limbs with the grace of a giraffe on sedatives.

Do not, however, mistake me as naive. I know full well the dark side of hope and its brutal, crippling hangover. I know the cost. I know the risk. I've paid dearly, and I have the scars to prove it.

I understand that I'm headed for disappointment.

I understand my heart will be broken.

But here's what analyzing that Mandela quote, what binge drinking hope has made me realize:

I'm so done being afraid of disappointment and fearing the worst. 

You know, I used to be young and reckless with hope. I used to climb to the roof and, with stupid confidence, declare that I could make the leap into the pool below. I used to laugh when people would tell me I couldn't or that I was crazy.

I've lived for some years now an existence in which I let sensible, sober people convince me that my dreams were too big, that my hopes were too high, that my expectations were too great. I came to believe that I wasn't allowed to ask or hope for anything good, let alone great. I buried my bottle. I flushed all my hope down the drain--every last drop.

That dry, hopeless way of living? It's been more unbearable than any disappointment I've felt from trying and then failing.

Never again. I will not resign myself to that timid, tame life.

Instead of cowering in the shadow of disappointment, instead of covering my eyes to avoid seeing a potential tumble, instead of piling up stones to protect my exposed heart, I want to stare straight down the barrel of the gun. And I'll have a goofy grin on my face, and I'll be singing a slurred, falsetto rendition of Teenage Dream. I refuse to bow down to the fear of failure.

This kind of approach to life isn't for everyone. It's foolishness, really. You have to be ready to peel yourself off the floor again and again when disappointment inevitably knocks you off your feet. You have to keep opening your chest at the risk of adding another scar to your heart. You won't escape unscathed.

You have to be slightly off your rocker to sell out to hope.

Just so happens I'm looking to get a little crazy. To the people are also crazy enough to join me:

Cheers.

Dreams Interrupted ~ guest post by jake atkins

Last week, Nate Blevins talked about moving to LA with his wife to help her chase her dreams. Today, Jake Atkins shares his story about packing up and switching coasts for his wife.  Jake and his wife are two of my favorite people on the face of this earth. He's been my best friend since my first year of college. I don't know many people that are more compassionate, understanding, creative, and hopeful than he is.

I know you'll love him.

***

When I was younger, I had plenty of dreams for my life. I wanted to be in a band. I wanted to play ice hockey. I wanted to see a great white shark in the wild. While also being in the water myself. Preferably with a cage between us.

After college, I married an amazing girl who wanted to become a naturopathic doctor. This meant packing everything up in Pennsylvania and relocating to Seattle. One of the best experiences of my life was our road trip we took across the country while towing a six-foot U-Haul of all our stuff. Having never been west of Ohio, it was quite an adventure.

But after the first year's dust had settled, it began to sink in that I was now committed to my wife's dream. This wasn't a bad thing, just something I noticed. I needed to focus on getting a real job to support us, and even more so after our two girls were born. Soon after that we bought a house.

It was official: I was a grown-up with responsibilities.

Wake up, catch the bus to work, play with the kids for 30 minutes before bedtime, then clean the house and reset everything so that we could do it all over again the next day. A good amount of conversations with my wife had to happen over Google Hangouts (if you have kids, you understand).

Through this mess called modern life, it's easy to lose sight of the forest for the trees. The big dreams I once had for myself now seem like a vapor, a ghosting of something once so valued. I know they're still there in the background, but not so present anymore. At least not demanding my attention as much as the daily routine, job, bills, and chores.

I've come to find there are stages in life where my dreams need to be bigger than me. They need to outlast me. They need to stretch and push things to the side, making room for others.

Watching my wife graduate last year was as much a win for me as it was for her. I desire for my girls to live long, whole, happy, and meaningful lives, so pouring into their little hearts as they grow is simply my dreams being fulfilled daily. Their dreams are my dreams now, too, and that's a humbling and beautiful thing to share.

Don't get me wrong, I still have little tastes of my old dreams here and there. I regularly play in a band at church.  I recently laced up the ice skates to pull my oldest daughter around the rink. But for now, nothing makes me happier than dreaming big with those most close to me.

***

Jake Atkins is a web developer in Seattle. When not working on the next awesome website, he enjoys spending time with his wife and two girls.

Maybe, But...

Maybe I'm a little naive. Maybe I expect too much of life.

Maybe I don't know how it really works.

Maybe my head's been in the clouds too long.

Maybe I've read one too many John Muir quotes.

Maybe I've watched one too many Meg Ryan movies.

Maybe I believe Jesus came so we could live life to its fullest.

Maybe I'll find desert on the other side of this mountain.

Maybe I've tried to capture and collect snow flakes.

Maybe I've chased after the wind all these years.

Maybe I'll have my heart shattered to pieces.

Maybe I'll add more scars to my collection.

Maybe I'll be disappointed yet again.

Maybe this is all complete nonsense.

Maybe that's all true, but...

I've spent too much time on auto-pilot.

I've spent too much time playing it safe.

I've spent too much time being mediocre.

I've spent too much time longing and wanting.

I've spent too much time worrying and stressing out.

I've spent too much time watching other people live life.

I've spent too much time wondering what it'd be like to live mine.

I've spent too much time caring about what other people think.

I've spent too much time living someone else's dream for me.

I've spent too much time looking back instead of forward.

I've spent too much time looking down instead of up.

I've spent too much time believing I'm not worth it.

I've spent too much time believing I can't do it.

I've spent too much time protecting myself.

I've spent too much time.

You'll forgive me, then, while I act the fool and believe that my dreams are within reach, that love can be everything I hoped it could be, that life is an adventure waiting for us to throw ourselves into headfirst and without reservation, that "the world is ours if we would only let it be."

Maybe I'm a fool, but...

Maybe I'm not.

The "Leap of Faith" Fallacy ~ guest post by drew mohoric

We're continuing our guest series on chasing your dreams with a post from my friend Drew Mohoric. It was in Drew's living room this past June watching the NBA finals and talking about life where I started down the path that would lead me to the conclusion that I can't fear making the wrong choice so much that it paralyzes me and I make no choices at all.

Drew's become one of those necessary friends in my life—the type of person who lives his life with conviction and inspires me to do the same. His thoughts on the "leap of faith" fallacy are so good—I hope they hit you as they've hit me.

Drew recently quit his corporate job to embark on a Learning Adventure and build Dream Bootcamp. He is a co-founder of Innoblue, former analyst at Accenture, and proud supporter of HPCD in Haiti.

***

Four weeks ago I took a “leap of faith” to pursue the thing I've most enjoyed in the past five years—helping others grow and develop in pursuit of their dreams.

Anyone who knows me can attest to my unquenchable thirst for knowledge and the fact that many moments this past year left me utterly parched. As any longing man would, I ran to a firehose once I found an opportunity to satisfy my craving.

Accordingly, I quit my job on September 27^th and hopped on a plane to chase some dreams of my own, in preparation for the thing—my mission. That plane landed in Germany, where I’m stationed for three months on a learning adventure in front-end web design, photo editing, and video editing.

Endless quotes in the public domain offer dreamers the inspiration necessary to make the “leap of faith” into the unknown, promising success to those who live passionately and follow their dreams. While these clichés are important in generating the energy required to overcome fears and apprehensions, they can be misleading and even damaging when taken out of context.

For most of us, our dreams must be seasoned with a heavy dose of pragmatism, planning and preparation.

That is to say that the “leap of faith” is not the beginning of the pursuit, but rather the climax.

In 2009, before I even knew my greatest strengths or passions, I started taking specific, actionable steps towards personal growth and development. Surrounding myself with movers and shakers (i.e. Innoblue). Serving in leadership (i.e. Beta). Volunteering (i.e. HPCD). Expanding my global and cultural perspectives (i.e. Schreyer). Reading widely. Diversifying my skills. Seeking mentorship. Deepening the roots of my faith.

Whenever I discovered an amazing environment or opportunity, I moved in that direction. The organizations I joined, the books I read, the courses I took…all part of my preparation, digging a foundation for the future. And what was the best part? The amazing friends and communities I met in the process.

One thing I know to be true is that by doing the things you love, you’ll meet people you love.

As time passed, more pieces of my life vision started to fit together and the greater picture grew increasingly clear. From coaching to mentoring, teaching to consulting, writing to public speaking, I realized my passion is to foster personal growth and development in others. As this realization surfaced in March 2012, I embraced it and sought ways to accelerate my momentum.

However, at two months away from graduation, I was realistically not ready to take a “leap of faith.” With school debt to pay, professional experience to be gained, and a lack of desired technical skills, I opted to stay the course of digging my foundation (i.e. work my corporate consulting job, pay off debt, save money).

From 2012-2013, I used every non-work moment available to stay on my mission and continue to put myself in a position to make the “leap of faith” when the opportunity was ripe. Fast forward 15 months and I’d checked the boxes—debt paid, money saved, experience gained, confidence established. What missing elements remain? Desired technical skills and a ripe opportunity.

So that’s where I stand as of October 24th , 2013. I’m studying in Germany for 3 months to bridge my technical skills gap and I’m now building something that I genuinely believe will help millions of people take actionable steps towards the discovery and realization of their dreams. Few things are as liberating as working and living with a passionate community in pursuit of a common goal…I’m stoked!

The chief purpose of this monologue is to discourage blind acceptance of the “leap of faith” fallacy. You don’t have to quit your job, move to a new location, or take any other drastic, knee-jerk measures to pursue your dreams. All growth and development takes time, patience, and training.

Doctors must train.

Athletes must train.

Writers must train.

Everyone must train.

This is the proven model and has been since the Middle Ages. In the words of rags-to-riches icon Jim Rohn, “Success is steady progress toward one's personal goals.”

So dream boldly. Figure out your roadmap. Eliminate distractions. Surround yourself with amazing community. Master the necessary skills. I bet there is a good chance you’re already on the path there.

Dream forward, Drew

Blog | Twitter | Dream Bootcamp