I deeply regret that it took me too many years to recognize that taking on a challenge and having to work excessively to meet it didn’t necessarily have to be a bad thing. For too long, I tended to correlate challenges with being a pain in the ass. As being lost time I couldn’t get back. I didn’t always correlate challenges with learning and progressing and becoming a more learned and advanced person. I didn’t always understand that the hours of work I put into a given task would continue to payoff and teach me lessons way, way down the road. I’m not sure why it took me so long to recognize as much; I just know I didn’t do myself any favors by viewing many challenges, particularly those that offered little to me that was personally satisfying, more as something I could fail at instead of something I could prosper from.
I think I started to turn a corner on this way of thinking as my oldest child hit his teenage years. Realizing that he wasn’t a “boy” anymore made me realize that I wasn’t a boy, either, and there was going to be a time very soon where there would be fewer years behind me than ahead. That’s a frightening and sobering reality, and it tends to help put things into perspective. For me, the perspective that was realized was that there are a crapload of things I want to do, but also things I didn’t want to but had to. But just because I didn’t want to didn’t mean there wasn’t something to be gained.
In some cases, accepting challenges has meant purposely putting myself into uncomfortable, unusual situations. For example, when the pastor at the church I was attending six or so years ago was on vacation, I agreed to give the sermon the Sunday he was gone. Anyone who knows me especially from my early years is most likely enjoying a good chuckle envisioning that prospect. I’ve rarely felt as nervous or anxious as I did leading up to that Sunday morning. To top it off, I committed myself to playing guitar and singing a song for the first time ever in public immediately following the sermon. I didn’t want to, but I knew it was a worthwhile endeavor I needed to attempt. Countless times in the days prior to that Sunday, I asked myself, “You dumbass, why did you do this to yourself?” I felt good about the sermon I had written and was prepared to give. It was from the heart, and the content was outside the box of what typical sermons contain—something that I liked. I didn’t hold an ounce of the same confidence or enthusiasm where singing was concerned. Still, I sucked it up, summoned the courage, and gutted it out. I didn’t land a record contract, but I did gain something I didn’t expect: pride and self-respect.
Especially in recent years, I think I’ve recognized the importance of taking on similar challenges. The result has almost always been positive. Today, I signed up to participate in the Warrior Dash on June 9, a day before my 45th birthday. I’m pitifully out of shape. I’m broken down and damaged. I’m nowhere near ready to meet the 12 physical challenges and 3.3 miles of running the event calls for. But I’m committed to try. Better, I love the fact that I’ll be taking this on with seven friends, and I love that we’ll tackle this together. I’m eager to experience difficultly as part of a collective vs. as an individual. I’m certain I’ll learn much and maybe even provide a little inspiration of my own or at least a helping hand. In short, I’m chomping at the bit to test my endurance and perseverance and see where it takes me. I haven’t physically done so in a long, long time, and this was needed.
This much I’ve learned about myself in recent years: I need obstacles to keep moving. If not, I stagnant, and I can hardly stand the thought of that.
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