When I used to enjoy the arduous hours of a newspaper employee (nights + weekends), I spent many an afternoon at a certain park about 15 minutes from my house in East Greenville, Pennsylvania. Now there were plenty of parks within walking distance of my abode, but I chose this particular location because it was an escape. I liked getting away from my development for a little bit, and for some reason, my mind always seemed more at peace at this park.It was here that I would fire up my iPod and work on my jump shot for an hour or so, and then jog on this gravel trail that went up a hill, past the Little League Baseball fields, and winded around the township building.
I loved this park. No joke, I actually used to imagine NBA scouts driving by and stopping when they saw me – this nobody – unconsciously draining three-pointers on the basketball courts, ala Jimmy Chitwood in “Hoosiers.” Or better yet, sometimes I imagined cute Christian girls doing the same as they walked their dogs around the nearby track.
But that was the mystique of this park. It was unfamiliar, and for all I knew, there could have been an NBA scout or two sitting in that parking lot or even some nice young ladies who dreamed of meeting a man with a wild imagination. I felt free to dream at this park, and it was an escape from reality.
On the afternoon I found out I was accepted to The World Race, I drove to my park. I didn’t work on my jumper or jog. I went there to talk to God. Truth be told, part of me (a large part actually) was hoping I didn’t make the cut. Because if I went on this 11-month pilgrimage, my life as I knew it was over. It sounds funny, because my life was pretty boring, uneventful, and predictable … but I was comfortable.
I liked sleeping in every morning. I liked falling asleep to Conan O’Brien every night. I liked knowing all the latest sports news and rumors before my friends, because it was my job. I liked ordering salsa chicken flatbread sandwiches from Wawa every night on my way to work. I liked playing NHL ’09 on my Xbox 360 or getting sucked into an atmospheric movie on my 42-inch plasma TV.
And all that was going to change. Might not sound like much to you, but a great deal of my joy and satisfaction came from these routines.
So that’s why I went to the park. To clear my mind and ask God if this was a good idea. I brought along my iPod and played a song by Hammock. Chances are you have never heard of this band. If you have, I will buy you a salsa chicken flatbread sandwich when I get home in a few weeks. How do I explain Hammock? Um … their sound is ambient and thought-provoking and just flat-out beautiful. Think Explosions in the Sky meets Common Children. That example probably helped no one, but Hammock and Explosions in the Sky can turn a five-minute drive to the dry cleaners into an epic quest to rediscover your soul. If you know these bands, you know what I’m talking about.
So I’m listening to Hammock and I trudge soulfully up my usual jogging trail until I find a lonely bench a little ways from the baseball fields. And there I prayed. I asked God over and over if The World Race was where He wanted me. And then it struck me: This would change my life … but it would be a good change. And that’s what I was looking for. I wanted my life to be more than salsa chicken flatbread sandwiches and NHL ’09 and fantasy football and, sadly enough, Conan O’Brien. I wanted a purpose. I wanted fulfillment. And none of that other stuff did that.
My 10.5 months on The World Race have been purposeful and fulfilling. It’s funny how my life is more satisfying when I live for others instead of myself. The World Race has been what I expected it would be: a pilgrimage, or a coming-of-age, if you will. It’s been a year to grow spiritually and re-focus on living the life God wants me to.
But this is just the start. This was my training. I turned myself in the right direction. Now, I need to take what I’ve learned this year and put it to use when I get back home. I don’t know what I will do or where I will go. I might stay at home in eastern Pennsylvania. I might hop across the country. I might hop across an ocean … or two. Who knows? I don’t. But I do know my future will have a purpose, and it will be fulfilling.
This journey has changed my life forever.
And it’s a good change.
