risk-taking

Conflict, story and trips that matter

by Steve Brock on March 28, 2013

As we saw last time, one of the five P’s of good storytelling is Problem or conflict. No conflict, no tension. No tension, no interest.

Travel and adventureEver tell of an experience on a trip that was fascinating to you, but you can see your audience looking at their watches long before you’re done even describing the ride from your house to the airport? For many of us, our trip stories don’t translate well because the conflict or problem isn’t clear…or isn’t there.

The “challenge” may be as benign as finding something interesting to see in a new city or discovering a decent restaurant there. That may have been a real quest for you at the time, but the story usually comes out something like, “We were hungry so we looked for this place some other travelers had told us about. We couldn’t find the street initially (oooh, real suspense!), but eventually we did and it was the most amazing meal of our trip.” How very nice.

Another reason our stories don’t work for others isn’t just because we don’t translate the challenge or conflict into a narrative they can appreciate. It’s because there is no challenge or conflict. Most of us, myself included, go to great lengths to ensure a hassle-free trip. We count it a success when we make all our connections, when no one gets sick, when nothing is stolen or lost, when the water is drinkable and the roads passable, when the wifi works well and our bargaining at the market works even better and when the whole journey goes as planned. Woo hoo for us!

But pretty boring for anyone hearing our tale.

I like the smooth trip and believe there will always be a place for those kinds of journeys. They just don’t make for great stories. I recall an interview with travel writer Paul Theroux who is famous for traveling light and alone to difficult places. Asked if he ever travels with his wife, he replied that he does and that they had been on a safari together not long before the interview. Theroux went on to explain that it was a wonderful trip… but there was simply nothing to write about.

Where there is no conflict, there is likely, no story.

Every time I find myself gravitating toward the easy trip, I do one of two things. Usually, I heed its Siren’s call and rationalize that this time, I deserve a break. A nice, comfortable trip will do just fine. Vacation is hard-earned, so why add more stress, right?

But then, I remember.

I think about the stories – the good ones – and the trips they represent. The ones that mattered, to others and to me. The ones where a slight shift in outcomes would have meant I wouldn’t be here to write this. The ones that scared the you-know- what out of me at the time but proved transformative. The ones that cost me something…and in turn gave me more than I can ever describe.

Sometimes the only thing that shakes me out of my need for the comfortable trip is to recall the power of the uncomfortable ones. And when I do, conflict, challenges and adventure aren’t things I seek to avoid. They become part of my destination.

And maybe yours as well.

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Top 5 life lessons from mountain biking – Lesson 1

by Steve Brock on October 2, 2012

How does riding a mountain bike apply to travel, or to life for that matter? Let’s explore five surprising lessons I’ve learned this summer about mountain biking that affect how we travel and live. I’ll start with the first one today and provide one per entry over the next week or two.

So here is Lesson 1: Faster is safer.

 

Number one on my non-intuitive list, this maxim states that if you go slowly down hills or over rough terrain, you actually increase the risk of injury. Huh? I thought slower meant better, at least when you’re learning.

Not necessarily. I tend to think of inertia as the resistance of an object to a change in its state of rest. But it also applies to the resistance of an object to change in its state of motion. I may not be a science wizard, but I do know from having a gyroscope as a kid that the faster the wheel spins, the harder it is to tip the gyroscope.

Same with a bike. Your whirling wheels stabilize you as you ride, so slowing down not only makes you feel each bump more, it’s also harder to stay upright. Physics is your friend.

On a trip (or in life) we also tend to defer to caution by thinking that slow and careful mean the more prudent route. But quite often, risking more can be the better – even the safer – option.

For example, an acquaintance told me of his attempt to cross the street in Mumbai, India.

He has just arrived in the country for the first time and he finds himself on a busy corner with vehicles of all shapes and sizes zipping past him. He waits and waits for an opening, but none come. Finally, he takes a tentative step toward the other side of the street. He believes that inching his way across the intersection will be safest.

A fellow pedestrian sees him and the cars and scooters that are swerving and honking about him. She grabs his arm, but instead of pulling him back to the security of the sidewalk, she rapidly propels him with her across the street…safely.

She explains that in India, if you hesitate, the drivers won’t know what you are going to do. So you confuse and anger them, increasing the likelihood they will second-guess your intentions – and do so erroneously. On the other hand, if you boldly step into the fray, all the drivers can see what you’re doing and where you’re going and you, ironically, are much safer.

Obviously, you need to know when to go fast and when to slow down. There’s a time for each. But in my own life, I err on the side of caution all too often. Thus, I have to remind myself of this little nugget gleaned from my mountain bike:

Take a risk. It may be the safest thing you can do.

Stay tuned for Lesson 2…

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“…notstop looking”

by Steve Brock on August 28, 2012

Thanks to a healthy backlog in my Netflix queue, I finally saw the film, “Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close” this weekend.

I have heard others say that it is a hard film to watch. The main character, Oskar Schell, is a boy living in New York whose father, played by Tom Hanks, dies in one of the Twin Towers on 9/11. So the inherent sadness of a story in which a child mourns for his father makes the movie painful. Yet that very pain is what makes the film so powerful.

Even before 9/11, Oskar sees the world in a unique way. He does so in part because he shows indicators of Asberger’s Syndrome, a kind of high functioning autism. Yet through this syndrome, we behold the depths of the father’s love for his son in scenes that take place before the tragic loss of life.

Oskar’s dad understands his son’s gifts and his limitations. To build on the former and transcend the latter, the father devises a special expedition – a kind of quest – for young Oskar.

The father tells his son about the “lost sixth borough of New York.” Oskar’s challenge is to find it or at least evidence of its existence. The father presents a series of clues that require Oskar to do what is uncomfortable for the son: to talk to others and to seek out items in unfamiliar places.

When Oskar complains that searching for clues is hard work, his dad replies, “If it was easy, it wouldn’t be worth finding.” With his father’s encouragement and enthusiasm, Oskar makes great progress on this quest. But then his dad dies.

Initially, Oskar is devastated. Then, one year after the tragedy, Oskar ventures into his father’s closet and discovers two things.

The first is a newspaper clipping he has seen before, one where his father has circled the words, “…notstop looking” a kind of credo for Oskar despite the missing space between “not” and “stop.” The second is an old key in a small envelope hidden in a blue vase.

The search for the lock that fits the key becomes a final quest from the father to the son. And what happens on that quest is what makes the movie so brilliant. You’ll have to watch it yourself to find that out.

I’m usually wary of attempts to read into a story more than was intended. Yet here, I cannot resist making comparisons of Oskar’s journey to our own. We may not have a form of autism, but we all have our issues. And we too, have a Father, a heavenly one, who knows our strengths and our weaknesses better than we ourselves do. He has given each of us a quest and has left clues behind for us to find. And with each discovery, we come closer to understanding both Him and ourselves better.

But the beauty of this story, and ours as well, is that we do not travel alone. Oskar can only complete his quest through the kindness and assistance of others. Some of the most poignant scenes in the film are when we witness the impact that Oskar has on the many, many people he meets. In their response to him, they gain much more than they have given.

The sweet irony of his journey is this: It is not in spite of, but because of his brokenness and his “disability” that he is able to complete his quest. He is welcomed by strangers who are disarmed by his blunt innocence and who empathize through their own post-911 loss Oskar’s need for closure.

We too travel more completely in our own incompleteness. The very things we shy away from – vulnerability, dependability, incompetence – are what make us most human, and most inviting to others.  If we travel in such a manner, however uncomfortable that may initially feel, we find, as Oskar does, that our fears dissipate and our connections increase.

And like Oskar, we may reach the end of our quest only to find that what we have discovered is different and yet more powerful and fulfilling than what we thought we were looking for.

But we only find it, as did Oskar, if we are careful to not stop looking.

 

P.S. As my son pointed out after experiencing the movie, God is not only like Oskar’s father in the film, but like his mother as well. I’ll say no more to avoid giving anything away. But watch the movie and see just how stunning that insight is.

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Gratitude and the slippery slope – Part 2

by Steve Brock June 6, 2012

Big surprise: I didn’t die on the icy trail to Annette Lake. But I did remember, then forget, then remember again the reason why I came there.

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Catcowbeaverdog

by Steve Brock February 21, 2012

What can an animal that exhibits traits of a cat, a cow, a beaver and rarely, a dog teach us about meaningful travel? More than you might think.

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Saving a life in Boston

by Steve Brock July 29, 2011

It took our 13-year-old son to convince us to help an injured man in Cambridge, MA. But it wasn’t the poor man laying in the street who turned out to need the most help…

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A personal place of safety on a trip

by Steve Brock January 13, 2011

We travel to get out of our comfort zones and yet we find on many trips – particularly hard ones – the need for our own “querencias” or places of safety along the way.

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