I’m not saying work is bad, I’m just saying I can’t hold a job.
I lived in Dallas for 3 years. In those three years I had five different jobs (not including freelance writing gigs), I volunteered at 4 different facilities with homeless, drunks, and junkies, and I worked on a documentary. Some months I made really good money, and some months I had friends donate peanut butter and jelly sandwiches to me.
I was not fired from a single job. I need to be on the move — growing, expanding, learning — or else I get claustrophobic. I use words like ambitious, or aspiring,some people much smarter than I have used words like discontent and crazy.
Some weeks I worked 20 hours, some weeks I worked 80 hours.
I also made some amazing friends in Dallas. Gill “Boss Hog” Sheehan regularly poured into a group of us younger punks with more love than I can comprehend. Glenn patiently walked me into the freelance writing world (and saved me hundreds of dollars after three years of free haircuts). Taylor let me play with thousands of dollars’ worth of equipment so I could learn photography. Phil taught me how to swing dance and dedicated months to helping me lose a large child’s worth of weight. Coleman taught me how to rock climb, gave me a place to sleep and a job. Pat taught me “top knots” aren’t really cool, but sometimes decent people come out of New Jersey. All of these guys have been there through thick and thin.
I almost ruined some relationships, only to have them redeemed and now stronger than ever. I had a mentor, Tony, who listened to my crap through it all.
Glenn’s photos from a “Surprise Going Away(finally) Party” that Phil threw me.
I filled my cup with quite a bit in Dallas, but one event happened which dwarfs everything in comparison — I found God.
That dude messed up my life.
I learned very early on in order to live a life of abundance, I needed to give away. So I tried to balance my time working and helping/volunteering. Yet, no matter how much I did, learned, or volunteered, when I looked at a clock a voice often whispered (or screamed), “what time are we leaving Dallas?” That same voice encouraged me to stare at photos of mountains, or binge watch travel videos and ski documentaries.
There’s more.
There’s more to learn.
There’s more to experience.
I felt like a rocket ship on a launching pad, not sure where I aimed at or when the countdown would begin, but I had fuel and that was all I needed. I’m a fan of being a little reckless and extremely ambitious.
About a year ago, while driving my Jersey friend, Pat, he explained this thing called the World Race.
“People travel to 11 countries in 11 months . . .”
My ears perked up and my eyes darted to him, and then back to the road.
“They work with all sorts of different ministries — orphans, youth, farms, churches, sex trafficking, construction, evangelizing — depending on where they are”
My eyes darted to check the road, and then back to him as he spoke.
“They basically live out of a backpack, go on adventures, love people, and pursue God for a year”
As he continued to explain, my heart raced and my chest lifted while my jaw dropped.
I decided to not make any rash decisions. I would pray, meditate, talk with my community — the mature steps to take.
The next day I applied.
I sit here writing this, almost a year later, and three months into my own race. I don’t clock in and out these days, I clocked in 3 months ago and have been living in pursuit of God since.
I have lived in three different countries, bussed over 100 hours in travel, hiked two mountains, rock climbed in Ecuador, scuba-dived off the coast of Colombia, watched the sunset over Lima, and watched it rise over Quito. I found God in every one of these experiences (I think that is part of having a spirit of adventure).
TL: Sunset in Lima; TR: Ally Tenney looking out over Marcahuasi; BL: Rock climbing outside of Quito, Ecuador; BR: Standing on top of Rucu Pichincha
Adventure certainly includes exploring the world, but it also includes diving into the marginalized.
There is adventure in heartbreak, in growing close to children who are so desperate for physical touch they hang on to you like a monkey.
There’s adventure in playing with children in a ghetto where gun shots are the norm. Some nights we claim the street and play for hours, other nights the gangs claim the streets and we stay inside.
There’s adventure in living with 7 people and never having alone time, learning how to live in a community where emotions are processed, problems are resolved, encouragement is received, and a body is formed.
There’s adventure in seeing the stronger we grow as a body, as a unit, the brighter we shine in the darkness. The more we love in the void.
I actually think I’m still sitting on the launching pad, but the countdown has begun. I find more every day, I will never stop searching because I am made for more.
