Fifteen hundred miles in six days. That's what's ready to roll over on my odometer. I needed to get out, go to the mountains and the beach. I didn't completely understand why; I just knew I needed to refocus and be part of a new setting.
Having heard Donald Miller speak at a local mega church a few weeks ago, I picked up his latest book, A Million Miles in a Thousand Years, before leaving town. He was inspirational when I heard him speak; finishing his book nearly made me giddy with excitement about life's next step. Though his intention doesn't seem to be purely motivational, his honesty about his own journey to improve his life story fosters a deep desire to follow in his footsteps. And unexpectedly, he helped me understand why I had to get away.
As an English teacher, I am not shocked by Miller's definition of a good story as a character who wants something and must overcome conflict to get it. Many times I have stressed that same concept to my students: a story does not exist without conflict. If you're writing, you have to let your characters get hurt.
What shocked me were the nearly perfect parallels to life that Miller draws between our lives and story. This is where the revelation came. How do we expect to get to the end of life and tell a good story if all we do is try to live comfortably? (I woke up. I ate breakfast on my way to work because I was running late. I worked. I got home late. I watched TV. I maybe phoned a friend, if I felt like it.) How boring!
Through his life experiences--namely, the making of his life into a movie (along with his thoughts, his encounters with friends and strangers, and his adventures)--he explores the concept of story and how each key component relates to our own lives. Conflict, character, setting--all of it matters. All of it serves to make life meaningful.
In essence, Donald Miller has written a treatise on the meaning of life without the high-and -mighty philosophizing or a trumpet title touting a discovery of the key to life. Instead, he creates this understanding through a vulnerability in his writing that opens a window into his corner of the world. He lets us peer into his thought processes as he realizes what it takes to live a good story and then begins to toddle towards living it. How we interact with others, what motivates us, how we acknowledge God, what we make of little and big moments--all come into play as he (and we) builds up his life's leg muscles and starts to walk confidently.
Much of what he said hit home. But what unlocked my need to get away was his discussion of scene. A good movie, his movie making friends told him, must have a good scene. It must be memorable. It doesn't just happen at the usual places. It has to be unique. Stand out.
At this crucial time of refocusing in my life, I too needed a scene that would reflect this search, this processing. Without knowing what it was, I was driven to find those scenes. Fortunately, I found them. The hawks swooping down from the pinnacle of the mountain, the wind making music on their wings. A thousand little lady bugs crawling over the rock face. A road winding through blooming trees of varying hues. The moon illuminating a path across the ocean. The sun creeping up over the horizon, rising boldly to take his place as master of the day. The pelicans flying in tight formation over the surf.
Knowing what motivated me to travel makes me think. Perhaps this desire to live a good story is innate. Maybe we don't have to identify all parts of the story, though knowing can help us be intentional. Perhaps we just need to choose to live it, risks and all.
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