--Borders--

The checkout was relatively easy. My apprehension must have been written all over my face at some stage. The reception at the gate was a tad shifty – eyes darting through seemingly intended scrutiny. Pretty lass she was, but her eyes could have killed anything. Perhaps that’s what they are paid for, trained for and sitting there for.

Yet there stands my paranoia, eating away at the toes, unconvinced, unreal, unexplainable.

So now, here I go, picking up my things once again after the mad rush through the streets of Richmond and slow moving grannies. What is on the other side, I must relinquish them into the hands of the one weaving my orchestra into place.

With one last deep breath, here we go…

cjt


--7 hour drive--

It’s beginning to set in. The aftermath of the seven-hour drive, like the seven mantras that took 3 minutes to write, setting into my core being, owning the drive of my gear shift.

It’s funny to come to this stage again where nothing on my iPod appeals to me anymore. It’s like I’ve aged 40 years ahead of my time, seen it all, understanding the groans behind the lyrics. What I can do without.

My association of late, well, it’s been a good two years, have been soul searching, soul deconstructing – to purge out the undergrowth for a clearer clarity of who I am; who I am in the light of God’s construct of his humanity. I’m coming to understand and it is exciting to know that my humanity can do so much – a fine line between mediocrity and greatness.

A wise sage I met at the footsteps of the sports hall told me that a good life is the enemy of a great life. Life seems good now. Good enough to live cheque to check. Good enough to save a little at a time for the good old days of ripe old age to sit by the backyard watching the kids tumble in the weed. That is good.

I remember my first mentor, in a series of many to come, used to keep drumming the birth right of my being – that I was born to be great – to do what no man does. In a series of my years, meeting phenomenal individuals who spoke specifically into my life, lifting me out of the coffee shop blues and canal play things, have one consistency: pioneering, beginning, ground breaking.

When someone gave me a door through to a new hope, he asked me what it was that I really wanted in life. There were the proverbial success catchphrases. But mine came right down the bottom of the pocket card. Leaving a legacy.

Fast forward two years and I am still on this journey of figuring out the meaning of what I chose. It’s like mum and dad asking you what you wanted to be when you grew up and you spend the good half rest of your life, figuring out what that really takes. Or what it means to begin with. Some of us freak out and settle. Some of us get confused along the way. Some of us suffer from amnesia as a result. Most of us don’t even get close to realizing where to begin.

God knows how many times I settled. It’s not that funny looking back with an attitude of anal retention of self-mutilation for the missed boats and flights. Time and again, He sent messengers: individuals, books, movies and children to pull me back up onto dry land again.

On that seven-hour drive back, conversations surrounded what it meant to get to the summit. And here I am reading about the journey up. Which makes me really grateful – emotional and the works. On the drive into the sports centre, my heart leapt with such joy knowing that I am in good hands, good company, no great company of friends who will not choose to settle, for that is the culture overflown from some incredible lives. Sometimes I wonder how different life would be if the choices made were different.

Which makes me think. I’m only just beginning. I’m only just starting to write my story, log my choices. What is God going to do with my life and the apparent choices I have chosen? What will my story be? What will the legacy smell like? I can only imagine, envision, dream and believe.

I am not my story yet.

cjt


--Service--

The attendants here seem to have a particular trait of serving beverages. I swear I probably had 10 juices in the last 4 hours. Every 15 minutes, they’re around with trays full of cordial type juices. Is it an Austrian thing? Imagine, Vienna the land of constant water parades.

Except this is not regiment, though the frequency must have been some form of safety protocol to get everyone hydrated. Perhaps they got sued before.

cjt