Acting Without the Drama

August 25, 2008. I don’t know about you, but I’ve always wanted to fly a plane. I think it’s one of those childhood dreams that most boys have, along with being an astronaut and becoming a firefighter. When my boys found out they could become firefighter pilots, that was it; they were sold. Now if only they could figure out a way to do that in space.

My eight-year-old son flew a plane on Saturday.

He went out with his Cub Scout pack. They had signed up with a group called the Young Eagles. Volunteer pilots donate their time and expertise to give youth the experience of going up in a plane. My boy actually got to pilot the plane for a few brief, precious moments.

He came home glowing.

My oldest son had been scheduled to do the Young Eagles last year, but it fell through at the last minute. He’s now in Boy Scouts, so was too old to go with the younger kids when they went out on Saturday. As bright as the moment was for my youngest son, the oldest was squarely in the middle of the dark. The one was a glowing hot-spot, the other a black hole.

Now, being the oldest son means that there are many past moments of glory unshared by his younger sibling. But in that instant, there was nothing but green-eyed jealously (which is maybe something to talk about in a subsequent blog), sour grapes and heartbreak. I talked to him about it for a while, with little-to-no discernible impact. He was just too upset to hear any words of comfort or suggestions of future opportunities to fly. In his mind he was grounded forever.

I think one of the most interesting traits we have as humans is how fast we forget. Give an animal a treat in a bowl, and from that point on that bowl represents nirvana. Put them on a hot stove and you won’t soon find them perched atop it. They seem to remember just fine. We don’t. How many times have I figuratively stuck my finger in the light socket? And how often do I forget the amazing experiences I’ve had when I’m faced with a challenging time?

If life has taught me anything, it’s that things end up working out. And yet, when I’m in the middle of a crisis, that’s it. Everything’s going to pieces. I’m finished. Game over. I am so quick to give in to despair.

Is it maybe that discouragement feels easier? There’s no accountability in despairsville. I self-flagellate, sure, but I don’t take responsibility for my state of affairs. I’m either busy finding a scapegoat for my problems, or I’m whipping myself in a corner. Either way, I’m not doing anything proactive to get out of the place I find myself in. It sometimes feels like I’m doing the whole thing dressed in S&M gear, slathering Vasoline everywhere…like somehow the whole thing is perversely pleasurable.

Hmmmm. Awk…ward…

Put that way, wallowing doesn’t seem all that appealing. My oldest son wasn’t doing anything useful while he was beating his breast, ripping his garments and anointing himself with ashes. He could’ve been on the phone to his Scout leader, asking for permission to schedule a time for his troop to work with the Young Eagles. You can do it up to age 17, so it’s not like he’s missed out on his only opportunity…unless he decides that he has.

Opportunities present themselves when we ask for them (not beg…that’s something else entirely). When we seek, we generally end up finding, and sometimes in miraculous ways. It’s like things just appear out of nowhere. I wonder, though, if they weren’t there all along; we just weren’t open to seeing them.

Rather than mope when we don’t get a part that we want, or a deal falls through, or our chief rival scores an amazing review, maybe we can simply open ourselves up for different (many times better) opportunities. I’m excited to see what this week has to offer. I’m keeping my eyes, ears, mind and heart open. We’ll see what enters in. Maybe I’ll get a chance to pilot a plane!

We can all fly if we want to. We just need to ask.

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