Imagine you were sitting in front of a window, looking across a meadow.
And imagine that you weren’t told what day it was.
Imagine that you sat there for a few weeks.
If at any moment someone asked you what day it was, you would have no way of knowing.
Because from the standpoint of looking out a window, every day looks the same.
There is nothing in the air or the sun or the clouds or the moon that distinguishes a “Monday” from a “Saturday.”
It’s all the same.
But imagine if a category 5 storm rages through the area. And leaves devastation in its wake.
Then the day is remembered. The date is captured. It goes down in the history books.
It would thus be safe to say that Storms are significant. While days in which there are no big storms escape unnoticed.
Let’s look at man’s life.
Every day is essentially the same. There is nothing that distinguishes one day from another.
Each day of his life escapes unnoticed.
It carries no particular significance.
But if there is a Category 5 storm in his life, he takes notice. He’s jarred from his slumber. The day has suddenly become Significant.
A man that is on a True Journey is a man that is like a storm.
The Journey consumes his every waking moment. Each day is an opportunity to walk further on that Journey. To experiment. To explore. To examine every inch of the dirt path that he walks.
And the man that is not on a True Journey . . .
The man that is not Consumed . . .
The man that is on a “part time” and “off and on” sort of journey . . .
. . . succumbs to the default.
What is the default of a man who is not a Storm?
What is the default of a man who is not on a True Journey?
What is an unmistakable sign that he has succumbed to this default?
I’ll tell you.
His days consist of nothing more than putting out fires.
Fires big and small.
Fires at work. Fires at home. Fires with the kids. Fires with scheduling. Fires with the little league match, the soccer game, and the parent-teacher meeting.
Fires concerning the car tires needing to be changed, and the gas bill that’s 3 days overdue, and the dishwasher that leaks with every other wash.
Fires about finances, and gutter cleanings, and yard work.
Fires about family conflicts, and children who won’t go to bed on time, and the neighbor’s cat which won’t stop wondering through his yard.
It must be perfectly understood that these fires are not “one part” of his life . . .
They are not the “unsightly blemishes” of his life . . .
They are the Sum Total of his life!
That’s all there is for him.
These fires are his very existence.
This is the natural default of one whose life has not become a Raging Storm.
Raging Storms don’t cause fires.
They extinguish them!
There’s also something about Time that you should know.
Time multiplies exponentially.
It typically takes a man about 40 years before he realizes what’s hit him.
And this happens to the Rare Few.
The majority never get “hit” in their entire lives.
A day is gone in a blink.
A week is gone in a breath.
A year is gone in a stride.
This is how life slips through a man’s fingers.
It slips away from him right before his very eyes. But his eyes are so occupied with the fires, that he simply doesn’t notice.
And in this fog of distraction, his children become adults. And he even remembers the day that he looked at them and thought, “When did you become an adult? How did you grow up so fast? How did my son get hair on his legs?”
“When did all of this happen?”
“Was I in a coma?”
The answer is Yes.
Without a Raging Storm, man defaults into a coma.
Even if he’s a “part time storm,” he defaults into a coma.
Unless the storm Rages . . .
Unless it consumes his every waking moment . . .
Unless it invests itself in everything that he does . . .
Unless it is his constant companion that he cannot leave for a single moment, even to go the restroom, he slips into a gentle coma.
And he has almost no hope of emerging until he’s at least 40. And that too if he’s rare.
Some rarer ones emerge earlier. Through some serendipitous event or interaction.
Unless a man is on a 24/7 True Journey, he will be lulled to sleep by the fires that dance on the horizon.
This coma is like Carbon Monoxide poisoning. It kills slowly and softly.
This is how life slips right through his fingers.
This is how it escapes him like a thief in the night.