"On to Bellingham..."
I just spent the last week with my family in Indiana. Evansville, my hometown, is exactly 2,368 miles from Bellingham. Flying gets me there in a little over 8-hours. The distance always feels infinite the night before I leave to fly back here.
Seven of the people I love most in the world are there. There's my 62-year-old type-A dad, with mannerisms that are strangely similar to mine and who can take 30-second stories and stretch them out for a good 10-minutes, all the while possessing some storyteller's charm that keeps you engaged. There's my 50-something (you're welcome mom) artsy, free-spirited mom, with her blonde hair and 5-feet 2-inches, who, to my horror, often shows people her stretch marks to prove to them that this 5'11" brown headed daughter of hers is, in fact, not adopted. The woman that has been my second-mom and constant source of comedy for most of my life is there. There's my big sister, who, when I was little, yanked more of my teeth out than I can count, most of which weren't ready to be pulled, and who has shared more of the bittersweetness of life with me than anyone. There's her sweet babies who had "Auntie Bup" at hello. There's my 18-year-old baby brother, who my family refers to as my "mini-me" and who has owned my heart since I was 14-years-old and held him in the delivery room for the first time.
They are seven human beings who make 2,368 miles seem impossibly far, but who also make it possible for me to thrive out here by supporting the fact that I'm doing what I love and by believing in my dream with me. The dream being to open a little gym, nestled amongst the mountains and water in the small "subdued" town of Bellingham... a gym that would fill people with the spirit of play and adventure and community... a gym where I could live out my life's purpose of helping people see their magic.
So here I am, 2,368 miles away, living out my dream, all the while missing my family, but what a motivation that distance is in making me want my moments out here to matter all the more.
A friend once wrote to me, "life is short... and it's long..." It has stuck with me ever since. I'm never more reminded of the brevity and breadth of life than when I'm home with my family. My dad's salt-and-pepper hair, my little brother's facial stubble, my niece's new words, all whisper... "life is but a moment love, live free..." -- while the pictures that line the walls of my family's house, that tell our story, add, "it's also so very long, live true."
So there it is Jogo, life is short and it's long. Live it out!