Today is going to be an adventure.
A couple of weeks before I turned forty—and that was long ago—this thought began appearing in my head when I woke in the morning. Life was tough then—no, more than tough, it was awful—and no matter how brightly the sun was shining, I was wrapped in a grey haze brought on by debt, overwork, and frustration.
A couple of weeks before I turned forty—and that was long ago—this thought began appearing in my head when I woke in the morning. Life was tough then—no, more than tough, it was awful—and no matter how brightly the sun was shining, I was wrapped in a grey haze brought on by debt, overwork, and frustration.
Today Is Already Your Adventure
We’re all going to die, Johnny. Hit the iron bell like it’s dinner-time.
--Sugar, advice columnist
Today is going to be an adventure.
A couple of weeks before I turned forty—and that was long ago—this thought began appearing in my head when I woke in the morning. Life was tough then—no, more than tough, it was awful—and no matter how brightly the sun was shining, I was wrapped in a grey haze brought on by debt, overwork, and frustration. I had three beautiful children, and would eventually receive the gift of a fourth, and my wife loved me—and even liked me most of the time—and I wasn’t starving, but every day brought so many financial problems that I felt as if I was slogging through a swamp, unable to get out of the muck, unable to feel the sun on my face, unable to see an end to the misery.
And then it started. I would rise out of sleep, swimming up from that black sea that had swallowed me, given me respite, swept me away for a few hours from the miasmatic crud I was crawling through, and I would open my eyes and look at the ceiling and a voice inside my head would say: Today is going to be an adventure.
Every morning for the next two weeks, that voice spoke to me as soon as I opened my eyes: Today is going to be an adventure. Was it from God? Was I talking to myself? I have no idea, and to be honest, never thought much about it. All I know is that the voice was there, speaking in a calm, matter-of-fact tone inside my head.
And for once in my life I listened.
I would wake and hear that voice, and would get out bed thinking, yes, today is going to be an adventure. I would shower, shave, dress, brush my teeth, make my coffee, say good morning to Kris and the kids, and the thought stuck with me like a burr. Within a day or two—no longer—that idea of approaching the day as an adventure transformed how I looked at everything around me. The coffee tasted and smelled better, the faces of my wife and children took on a sort of glow. The clerk in the convenience store became a human being instead of an automaton standing behind a cash register. (I remember being struck by the beauty in the brown eyes of one overweight cashier). The customers who came into the bookstore I then owned breathed and moved and spoke like angels. Opening the boxes of books we’d ordered for the store, once a burden because of their expense, made every delivery day like Christmas.
Whether walking a deposit to the bank or taking my children to the public library, I felt as if the very air were alive and as if I owned everything I could see, hear, or touch.
The voice went away, but for several months I woke thinking about the day and about adventure. This became a pivotal year in my life. I began taking better care of my health. I became first a real Christian, a believer, and then a Catholic. I began teaching classes for homeschoolers and for inmates in a nearby prison. Viewing my day as an adventure had worked its magic on me, changing me, letting me see, however dimly, the beauty everywhere around me.
After a while, I lost the habit of waking to an adventure.
Why I stopped isn’t readily apparent to me, but I eventually forgot to regard the day this way. I did find, however, that, off and on through the years, I could revive the habit and change my approach to the day’s trials. As the years passed, I also found less need for the mantra. After my wife’s death, the sale of the bed and breakfast allowed me to pay off my debts, and though retirement seems unlikely, my mind is at peace regarding finances. Growing older has also, in the words of Uncle Will, gentled my condition: what once angered me—the stupidity of politicians, a student wasting his potential—now brings a more balanced response, at least in the case of my students.
The small things in life have become more important to me.
This slow-won change of attitude depends a lot on perspective. A young man I know with a wonderful smile and a sort of goofy buoyancy condemns himself daily to a sort of purgatory because of his low job status. A young woman I know, beautiful and bright whose presence brings pleasure to everyone she meets, daily bashes herself because she has gained weight and is constantly ragged about it by her partner. Because of the way they are built, these two people, despite their own self-condemnation, bring a joi-de-vivre to those around them.
They fight every day against that worst of enemies, the self, and do try to live adventurously.
The saddest people are those who are unhappy and decide to dump their misery on the rest of us.
Dennis Praeger recently put out a teaching video on happiness and in this movie he claims that we have a moral obligation to be happy around others. Watch the film: he makes a good case.
A number of you who read this site are young: students of mine or twenty and thirty-year-olds struggling with all that life throws at you. If you’re in that boat, I hope you’ll take an old guy’s word to heart. Be brave in your lives. Treat others around you kindly. Make a gift of yourself. Fall in love—not just with those you love, but with others and with all you do. The world is still a fine place, even with all the tears and sorrow, and by living authentically and with ardor you will make it even finer. And try out that mantra. Try waking up each day and thinking, Today is going to be an adventure. Give it a shot and see what happens.
Ring that iron bell, baby, like it’s dinner-time!
--Sugar, advice columnist
Today is going to be an adventure.
A couple of weeks before I turned forty—and that was long ago—this thought began appearing in my head when I woke in the morning. Life was tough then—no, more than tough, it was awful—and no matter how brightly the sun was shining, I was wrapped in a grey haze brought on by debt, overwork, and frustration. I had three beautiful children, and would eventually receive the gift of a fourth, and my wife loved me—and even liked me most of the time—and I wasn’t starving, but every day brought so many financial problems that I felt as if I was slogging through a swamp, unable to get out of the muck, unable to feel the sun on my face, unable to see an end to the misery.
And then it started. I would rise out of sleep, swimming up from that black sea that had swallowed me, given me respite, swept me away for a few hours from the miasmatic crud I was crawling through, and I would open my eyes and look at the ceiling and a voice inside my head would say: Today is going to be an adventure.
Every morning for the next two weeks, that voice spoke to me as soon as I opened my eyes: Today is going to be an adventure. Was it from God? Was I talking to myself? I have no idea, and to be honest, never thought much about it. All I know is that the voice was there, speaking in a calm, matter-of-fact tone inside my head.
And for once in my life I listened.
I would wake and hear that voice, and would get out bed thinking, yes, today is going to be an adventure. I would shower, shave, dress, brush my teeth, make my coffee, say good morning to Kris and the kids, and the thought stuck with me like a burr. Within a day or two—no longer—that idea of approaching the day as an adventure transformed how I looked at everything around me. The coffee tasted and smelled better, the faces of my wife and children took on a sort of glow. The clerk in the convenience store became a human being instead of an automaton standing behind a cash register. (I remember being struck by the beauty in the brown eyes of one overweight cashier). The customers who came into the bookstore I then owned breathed and moved and spoke like angels. Opening the boxes of books we’d ordered for the store, once a burden because of their expense, made every delivery day like Christmas.
Whether walking a deposit to the bank or taking my children to the public library, I felt as if the very air were alive and as if I owned everything I could see, hear, or touch.
The voice went away, but for several months I woke thinking about the day and about adventure. This became a pivotal year in my life. I began taking better care of my health. I became first a real Christian, a believer, and then a Catholic. I began teaching classes for homeschoolers and for inmates in a nearby prison. Viewing my day as an adventure had worked its magic on me, changing me, letting me see, however dimly, the beauty everywhere around me.
After a while, I lost the habit of waking to an adventure.
Why I stopped isn’t readily apparent to me, but I eventually forgot to regard the day this way. I did find, however, that, off and on through the years, I could revive the habit and change my approach to the day’s trials. As the years passed, I also found less need for the mantra. After my wife’s death, the sale of the bed and breakfast allowed me to pay off my debts, and though retirement seems unlikely, my mind is at peace regarding finances. Growing older has also, in the words of Uncle Will, gentled my condition: what once angered me—the stupidity of politicians, a student wasting his potential—now brings a more balanced response, at least in the case of my students.
The small things in life have become more important to me.
This slow-won change of attitude depends a lot on perspective. A young man I know with a wonderful smile and a sort of goofy buoyancy condemns himself daily to a sort of purgatory because of his low job status. A young woman I know, beautiful and bright whose presence brings pleasure to everyone she meets, daily bashes herself because she has gained weight and is constantly ragged about it by her partner. Because of the way they are built, these two people, despite their own self-condemnation, bring a joi-de-vivre to those around them.
They fight every day against that worst of enemies, the self, and do try to live adventurously.
The saddest people are those who are unhappy and decide to dump their misery on the rest of us.
Dennis Praeger recently put out a teaching video on happiness and in this movie he claims that we have a moral obligation to be happy around others. Watch the film: he makes a good case.
A number of you who read this site are young: students of mine or twenty and thirty-year-olds struggling with all that life throws at you. If you’re in that boat, I hope you’ll take an old guy’s word to heart. Be brave in your lives. Treat others around you kindly. Make a gift of yourself. Fall in love—not just with those you love, but with others and with all you do. The world is still a fine place, even with all the tears and sorrow, and by living authentically and with ardor you will make it even finer. And try out that mantra. Try waking up each day and thinking, Today is going to be an adventure. Give it a shot and see what happens.
Ring that iron bell, baby, like it’s dinner-time!