Spectators of the Revolution

You've never settled so this does not apply to you.  Read no further.

If you have settled in some way, it started with innocuous, nearly involuntary compromise.  But how routine has it become.  I know.  Me too.

For today, it began with sneeze of twitter that nearly came and went.  It seems even at his age, he was "working circles around" the younger folks.  Yes, but ...

I wanted to reply with great wisdom, but never made it beyond "so".  Even that never made it to my fingers - the keyboard - and the series of tubes.  I almost said, "the thing about working in circles is that it takes you in you-know-whats."  And I wanted to say how sad someone is going to be when your tombstone says how productive you were.  Then my mind's eye interrupted.  I saw my tombstone.  It said "PRODUCTIVE" and there was a sticker, and a URL to LinkedIn.  The more I almost replied to Working Circles Around, the more I was already painted into a corner.

Scene II.  Fitter Happier.  So Working Circles Around drove me to a piece of art.  It's honest to say this uber-original work haunts me.  It comes to me at the end of the day.  It looks at me with all the dead pan only the most taking faces can pull off, and it quips, "boy! When your head hits the pillow tonight, you'll know you affected some resources today.  Mmm, what a legacy."

And what can I say.  The phrase 'make a living, not a dying' comes to mind.

Intermission.  So amid vomiting my personal passionless life, I find myself saying "I'm going to do it this time.  I'm going to live.  I'll jump up out of the Box, lurk for the first person to ask what I'm doing, and I'll insert the Box in his mouth."  (That will be my first work of art.  The Box is not so small that it fits well inside one's mouth.)  Then I'll draw the quick, deep breath one takes leaving the diving board

And, Preamble:  The thing about those of us (spectators) who come right up to the edge and almost live is how we love to marvel at those who do.  We can talk to you all day about those who inspire, the ones who rise and live, the folks who star when we wax on about how they really "broke the mold."  Go on and on.  Now I realize.  All the time I spend bragging about how bold, how strong, how original are those who have taken the leap -- it is placebo.  As I talk about them, I am self-medicating, quenching my personal little urge to be the leaper.  I write a little, I feel connected.  Until I say it aloud, I almost believe I took the leap.  After all, I wrote about it.  I said it.  I imagined how the fulfillment and the glory tasted.  I shared it, which must count for something.  At least so long as I keep writing, I can't be expected to take my own leap.

But enough.  How much longer before I flush the placebo -- before I trade writing for leaping.  Not one more second will aggregate.  Not that it's for you, but watch me now.  

You are my accountability partner.  I don't hear you yet, but I see you.  I can see the "sure you will" on your face, so I hope you keep watching.  Really.  One of us is going to be walking around with a mouth full of The Box.  One of us.

{As we continue, you are encouraged to challenge my willingness, my method, and ultimately whether I (in light of my proclamation this day) truly leap.  And as you return, I will endeavor not to waste your time.}