We All Can Live a Good Story... Who's Writing It?

I just read the delightful book by Donald Miller titled A Million Miles in a Thousand Years. Now, I'm not going to lie, during the first sixty pages or so, I had my doubts. By the time I had reached about page 120, however, I had secretly become engrossed in the world of how my life is a story in the making. Then, by the time the back cover was closed and I had scanned every word on the rear of the book for any additional information to be gleaned from genius Miller, I was left in a state of intense pondering of my new outlook on my life.

The most remarkable idea from the book was his depiction of our lives as stories being written by God. As anyone who has done any writing will attest, often the writer has a plan for his work, but as the characters of the story develop, they tend to go off and do their own thing. Then, not wanting to erase and rewrite the section where the characters wandered off of the plan, the author picks up the story and reworks it to fit the change the characters introduced.

I am reasonably certain that this is very true of me. As a general rule, the best stories are exciting... full of adventure, risk, courage, and challenge. Thinking back over my history, I can think of many circumstances that demonstrate to me that the author of my life has in mind a Pulitzer Prize-winning novel. Unfortunately, I can also think of decisions that I have regularly made that have eliminated memorable scenes from my story and left several pages of rambling nonsense in their stead.

A number of the memorable scenes I have eliminated from my story involve me turning-around or pulling-out when I should have kept going. In 2005, my roommates and I took off on an early July morning and made way for my second ascent of Granite Peak. The day started warm and clear, but as we approached the 9500-foot mark with about 2-miles to go before base camp, it began to rain. We sat in the trees and waited for it to break. It broke all right... into sleet and then snow, and then thunder. After an hour or so, we were back at Princess Lake, contemplating retreat with our tails between our legs. After another half-hour or so of waiting, the rain and snow continued. We pulled the plug and went home.

The remainder of the day was marked by isolated thunder storms rolling through the area. We made it home, and after a lovely night in our comfortable beds, we awoke to crystal clear skies. Throughout the day, I monitored Granite Peak from Absarokee. Not a cloud in the sky came near the mountain for the entire day. I tracked in my head where we could have been had we not turned tail and ran. "Dang it!" I thought. "It would have been a bluebird summit after a nice soggy battle to earn it... why didn't we just set up camp and hunker-in for the night?"

Granite Peak Failure 2005, as I affectionately named it, is still a sore spot in my heart. In fact, often when faced with a tough decision of weather or not to choose the path of risk and adventure in my story today, I remember that day. More often than not, the memory compels me to say yes to avoid the same heartache again.

Granite Peak Failure 2005 is not the only sore point that I remember. There are many other similar stories ranging from turning tail on other mountains to simply repeatedly saying no to an after-school adventure in the interest of watching TV. They all seem to be missed opportunities to follow the story that the author of my life is trying to write. Sometimes I find myself sitting back and wondering what the story of my life would have been like had I accepted the opportunities that came my way. How much more wilderness savvy and confidence would I have had I said yes to some of those mountaineering adventures? How much stronger of an endurance athlete would I be if I had thrown aside the remote control and went for a run instead of losing myself in a fictional Hollywood story?

It is easy to get depressed thinking about all of the "could haves" and "what ifs." I am beginning to realize that the failed stories aren't all bad if administered to the mind in the proper doses. Dwelling on how big of a loser I am for having failed Granite Peak in 2005 and having sat around when I could have been running is really not that helpful. However, when faced with a new adventure of which I am slightly afraid, remembering the years of bad feelings for being lazy or a coward tend to be a strong aid in making a decision to follow the interesting story before me. Even at that, the negative memories are still limited in their power. I am beginning to believe that one of the strongest tools the author has to get us back to following the great adventure he is writing is to cue us to remember the great adventures we have had when we have said yes to following the lead of his pen.

It was interesting that as I was brainstorming to find instances where I have said no and been disappointed, and instances when I have said yes and have flourished, it was much easier to remember all of the times when I said yes to adventure and challenge. You can bet that the reason for the improved memory recall of the good scenes is because they are naturally more exciting to me. The forces of evil in the world try to get me to be lazy and afraid to stop living the story, but we all have our desire for exciting and memorable scenes to combat a boring life. The desire that we have for good stories is, in my opinion, a powerful tool in following the heart of the author.

About two years ago this month, I was at a student teaching orientation meeting and I was faced with one of the most monumental decisions I have ever made. There came a point in the meeting in which the students who were planning on student teaching overseas had no more reason to be there, and we were excused. It was officially the point of no return for me... the point at which my thoughts of going to New Zealand to student teach were going to begin becoming more than just empty plans, but rather a regulation commitment. I rose from my chair to leave and I could feel chills going down my spine and pressure in my chest. It felt surreal that I, the conservative and uncultured person that I was, was committing to over three months of living 8,000-miles from home while doing my first ever teaching. A memorable scene was beginning.

I only had a couple of minor panic attacks as the day of my departure approached. I remember wanting it all to be over with a few times, but as the last days before I left progressed, I became strangely calm. It was like my emotions were accepting what was happening... it was like it was natural for me to do... a chapter of a story of which I was supposed to be a part.

As I flew from Billings to Denver, I remember looking out the window, and then feeling a fascination with the beauty and detail of the world taking hold of my spirit. I marveled at the detail of the ravines and hills of the snowy landscape below and couldn't help but think about how my eyes were about to see such new and distant areas of the world that my perspectives of the earth were about to change forever. During that trip, I got to see the legendary city of Los Angeles, I got to see the Pacific Ocean in both the light and the dark as I thought of Magellan on his death defying trip across it by boat hundreds of years before. As we approached Fiji and I saw my first Pacific island, I thought long and hard about my grandpa and how he had spent several years fighting his way through islands not unlike the one I was about to set foot on. Sitting in the Fiji airport, I pondered how strange it felt to be on foreign soil for the first time as I looked out over a few homes and realized that third world countries really do exist. Eventually, as we flew in to Aukland and then Christchurch, I was filled with excitement as I gawked at the landscape of the country that would be my home for the next three months.

My fascination with the world was my companion in that it was a presence the took the place of the friends and family members who were not with me. I befriended and worked with a lot of new people in New Zealand, but I still did the majority of my traveling alone. I liked it that way. Being alone with my fascination to keep me company was nice. Before the trip, I never knew just how nice it was. I often would discuss decisions about where to go next, or how nifty a mountain or lake was with myself and God. It was some classic quality time, and the memories are causing me to grin like an idiot as I sit here and write. Especially when I recall the scene on a trail in Fjordland in which a European man came around a corner and caught me talking to myself... he was surprised to find I was alone.

New Zealand was quite a memorable scene. During a two-week break I had from student teaching near the end of my stay, I went on a trip in which I explored by biking, running, and driving the southern half of the south island of New Zealand. After an action packed day of exploring near Milford Sound, I laid in my tent with my spirit buzzing with excitement. It was an incredible experience to move, explore, marvel, and talk with God about my fascination with the world. The memories of that day, and the days that followed, are so potent to me that I sometimes find myself avoiding thoughts of them so as to not have to feel the heart-wrenching draw back to that time and place.

And Now I wonder... what if I would have not stood up at that meeting? I almost didn't. I was afraid. But I did. And it set a whole new course for my life.

A lot of the events in our lives are easily forgotten, but for the time that I was in New Zealand, I had a high definition video camera rolling and recording the most absurdly minuscule details. I also spent a lot of time learning that talking to the author of the book is easy, and that he is a fun guy to spend time with.

Recently I decided to be a wild man and I bought a road bike as another means of moving and exploring the world. I started with some smaller rides as I got my biking muscles back into shape, and within a few weeks, I was beginning to dream of new and big places to explore. Before long, my plans had enlarged to include giant 100+ mile day rides and multi day tours that were hundreds of miles long. Thinking of tackling such feats made my soul begin to buzz with excitement. I thought of doing a bike tour to Colorado, and then fear of pain and logistics countered. Before long I remembered how the times I turned away from a challenge tend to only deliver lack of memory or bad memory that lingers in the back of my mind. Then, I thought back to the feeling I had in my chair before committing to my trip to New Zealand. It was the feeling of anticipation of something that is big and remarkable, something that would make a good story. I can almost see the author whom I spent so much time chatting with as I explored New Zealand looking at me as if to say "do it!" He is reworking my story to throw in another great scene, and with the potent memories of New Zealand rolling through my mind, I can't help put slap a goofy grin on my face and thank God for the crazy story he is planning on me living.