The warm night air throbbed with the panting of the big diesels, idling with their train down by the riverfront. Metal Dobermans at temporary rest, they waited for orders to move on down the track to fetch their next load of freight.
I had padded on down to snap a photo of the scene. There’s something about a night train, isn’t there? I can’t quite put my finger on it, although I’ve tried many times, trackside, and aboard, a bougie hobo sitting in Amtrak coach class. If the Call to Adventure had a theme song, it would be the whistle of a distant locomotive. I’d peer out the windows as we hurtled ever forward, trying to make sense out of the blackness. The lurid glow of the crossing gates beaming a red warning to cars would fly by the grimy glass. Now and then an orange pool of light around a gas station closed for the evening, occasionally a house fast asleep. And still onward we rushed, headlong into the Unknown. Hanging out in the dining car late one night, I struck up a conversation with a conductor. “When the engineer radios a green signal, I repeat that back to him. It means ‘drive it like you stole it.” Given that a train doesn’t really…stop, I nodded, hoping the next unseen mile was clear. I guess most everything is an act of Faith.
Back to the present, and earlier in the afternoon, the tractor could wait. I leaned back in overalls, talking with “Jimmy”, the equipment dealer. Everyone around the shop was uneasy about the state of the World. The shared conviction is we’ve painted ourselves in an unpleasant corner, or worse. Moving out to said World, perhaps the only universally agreed-upon point in these polarized times is their turbulence.
So, what do we do about it?
I don’t know. Here’s something that keeps getting in my face, though.
The opportunity to become more.
Opportunities
It often leaves me bewildered, and the Opportunity looking slightly irritated. “This means forks DOWN” regarding a tractor. “Oh!” I scramble in my overalls, a creature of suburbia and automatic transmissions, straining my brain. “Rock step, THEN kick.” Within a week, I’ve “learned” the Charleston and rudimentary boxing footwork. “No, no, grab my head, bring it towards your knee, and then bash the pad like it was my face.” “Oh. OK.”
Everywhere I turn, there’s an art and an intricacy. Why is Amethyst purple? How do celestial coordinates work? How am I reacting to a particular situation?
The majesty of the world has always enthralled me. The closer I look, the more I see. But so far, it’s been a passive appreciation.
Now I’m realizing the importance of stepping up to these new challenges. Answering the call means I get to become more. (And the same applies, dear reader, to you, answering the “so what?” - but I’m not here to preach at ya.)
Hipster swing dance? The willingness to look like an idiot - the constant return to the White Belt, and the aiming at skill. Boxing? The same, and the disciplined refinement of aggression. It’s a discovery and integration. Everywhere I turn, I’m confronted with my own inadequacy. But once I lift my head and take a second look, Opportunity is patiently waiting for me to catch up, and grow.
Dave Carey, that Vietnam POW from a few posts ago, thunders in the blazing sun “Are you trying your best?”
(No.)
To Sum Up
But then again, what am I driving at here? “Great, you’ve got lots of hobbies, Josh, good for you.”
I’m still not sure what it means, but as we hurtle into the metaphorical night, our shortcomings sure aren’t doing us any favors. Everywhere I turn, there’s an opportunity to become more, and not just in a trivial way. The chance to become stronger, to think deeper, to listen closely, to speak carefully. How much affects the world? I’m not sure. But it seems like it’s a bad time to be a Straw. So - challenge accepted. 5 6 7 8…Mama said knock you out.
The Dobermans got their orders, and notched up. A bell rang - “ding ding ding”, as the night train ground out of town. I sat in my car and listened.
Yes, it’s time. Let’s get it!