Saturday, September 8, 2012

Risk and Reward

I am not a good flyer. I used to be, back in a time before terrorists were a regular presence on the nightly news and before I developed a totally irrational fear of spontaneously falling out of the sky. I'll do it, I will just stress myself out about it for weeks prior until by the time my flight actually arrives, I'm so worn out that I have no choice but to give in, board the plane, and accept that my fate is in someone else's hands.
 Of course, in many ways I guess it always is. It's in the hands of the tractor trailer driver behind me on my morning commute, in the hands of the chef at the family restaurant in town who knows just how fresh the chicken is in tonight's special. It's in the hands of every doctor I've ever visited, employer I've ever interviewed with, or man I've ever dated.
But as I sit here now on a beach in Carmel, with the ocean in front of me and the greens of Pebble Beach behind me, I can't help but think that without a shadow of a doubt, it's all worth the risk.
Without trusting a chef, you'll never have the kind of meal where you literally can't help but say, "yum" after every bite. Without trusting an employer, you'll never find your dream job, or at least be happy there for very long. Without trusting a date, you'll never find the loving security of a relationship where you know that someone in the universe gets you for exactly who you are, and will give his or her left limb to make you happy.
Without getting on a plane and trusting your pilot, you'll never see the view from above the clouds. You'll never get to experience a place so outside of your everyday realm that it reassures you that God has a plan and a vision, and everything is right in the world.

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