During a forced work break this afternoon (waiting for the computer to upload files), I picked up a book and sat down in a comfy chair, stared out the front window at snow-covered, gleaming-white Mount Timpanogos, then opened the cover and began reading. The book is 48 Days to the Work You Love, a guide for choosing your ideal career, and was a gift from a neighbor after a conversation about deciding between too many promising work options a few months ago. I only had time to read the foreward (darn fast internet!) but it was enough to inspire me to write about it. Here's a nice excerpt:

I have observed several traits among...people who have become inordinately successful.... One is that they have a calling, which they have discovered and are implementing. "The other is they have made mountains of mistakes in the process of becoming 'successful.' The gleaming mountain of success is actually a pile of trash. "The difference between the successful and the troubled is not error-free living; it is that by discovering and implementing a life calling, the successful stand on their pile of trash while the troubled sit under theirs."

My first thought after reading this passage was that I wanted to aim for the stars and start making mistakes and building my mountain. Many years ago, I had a similar thought and vowed to always go for it. I wrote something about becoming the King of Risk and enjoying the crashes and burns by always doing so gloriously. In hindsight...I'm trying to decide whether that was such a good idea. I guess the answer must be...sometimes. Sometimes the reward of effort and courage were worth more than the failure cost. Like when rock climbing (usually!). One day in American Fork canyon, Ben and I had on-sighted (climbed on the first try ever) 5 new 5.10's and .11's (medium-to-kinda-hard climbs), and my forearms didn't have a lot left in them. The last 5.10d was the toughest - steep (which means overhanging to climbers) and greasy (which means smooth, polished rock). After clipping the rope to the second bolt, I could only hold on for a few more seconds. Rather than hanging on the rope to rest, though, I shouted for more slack and dynoed (jumped) to the next big hold. I clipped another bolt and tried it again. If I could catch the next giant hold, I could wrap my arms around it and rest, and the rest of the climb sloped off (no longer overhanging) and I would collect another on-sight for the list. Unfortunately, I jumped a few inches too high, and when I came down, the momentum ripped my weak fingers from the hold. The rope caught me six feet below and it felt exhilarating to know that I would "die trying" rather than chicken out and give up. Other times, the cost of failure was much steeper. Sometimes burn out from trying to do too much took months or years to recuperate from, as did recovery from a few relationships that didn't end quite the way I hoped for. I'm a bit wiser now and I guess that's what mistakes are all about. Maybe next time I'll get everything right. Whether I do or not, I guess I've already made my choice regarding risk and mistakes. I'll keep on trying. I'll try harder than ever when something really worthwhile comes along. Maybe I'll crash and burn a few times, but eventually, I'll stand on top of that mountain; and I'm telling you now - because I can see it in my mind's eye - the view is worth the entire cost of getting there.