That’s the kind of men we are. That’s the trouble with us. We’re content---but not with status quo. Not bound by the size of our circle of influence. We have our principles and we’ll push the envelope; softly, maybe gently, maybe massaging it over time. Still we’re pushing. Content; but only so-so.
That’s the kind of men we are. Weekend football, monthly mortgage and rounds of Happy Hours don’t satisfy. We’ll go, we’ll have fun. Still you might catch us looking out the window; or just staring; that far-off look in our eyes. We’re seeing a glimpse of something that you’re not. You’re drinking beer; we seeing Borealis.
We tilt at windmills. Our hearts stir when neighbors’ oppressed. Perhaps its Putin pushing boundaries. Could be local. Injustice anywhere…. Our world views may differ but we’ve come to them through thought, reading and reflection. Conviction moves us. Conviction steadies us. Conviction makes us targets.
There’s trouble with the kind of men we are. The world doesn’t get us. The world doesn’t like us. Hence we often go it alone or with six; or with twelve. Or with six-shooter. We reason; pen mightier than the sword and all that. Times may call for the sword; lying down the pen, laying down our lives.
Something; Someone, someplace calls to us louder than the current din. The mountain calls; the wilderness calls, the challenge calls. Complacency; not us.
That’s the kind of men we are. Moments there are that we wish it weren’t so. Still sleep is deeper. Our dreams bigger. Friendships tighter. Need be we’ll go alone; Borealis beams. Mountains call. Adventure waits. That’s the trouble with us.