Refusing the Call
“That sounds all well and good,” I said, “but that’s just life, not really an adventure.”
Iman shook his head. “An adventure is any undertaking that includes risk and an unsure outcome. Any time you put yourself out there or expand yourself, you risk losing the you that you are. You risk losing the comfort zone you’ve created for yourself. You risk the security you’ve wrapped yourself up in. Any time you try something new, it assures that you will not be engaging the same old same old you’re accustomed to. Thus the adventure begins.”
“What if we don’t want to risk it?” I said. “I mean, what if we like the status quo? Like you said, it’s comfortable. It’s safe.”
“A good number of the calls to adventure are left unheeded,” said Yewell. “They are heard and refused because they seem either too large and daunting or too small or insignificant. However, each of the calls goes forth with purpose and untold opportunity for growth. Ignoring any of the calls results in the stagnation not only of the hero but of society at large. For the person that is living consciously, no adventure is too big and no adventure is too small.”
“Let us show you something,” Iman said with a nod.
Instantly, we were transported to the sidewalk in front of the Golden Apple Dinner Theatre. I turned around and tried to move out of the way as a couple of people walked right toward me, but with an alien on either side of me, I wasn’t able to move fast enough. It’s rather disconcerting when people walk right through you.
“Remember,” Yewell said, “you’re not really here.”
I looked to the bench where I’d seen myself only moments ago and sure enough, the bench was empty.
“When are we?” I asked.
“Earlier,” was all that Yewell said.
“What are we doing here?”
“Looking at her,” Iman said, pointing a long finger at a girl in her early twenties walking toward us.
“Who is she?”
“That is Angeline,” he said. “Let’s take a closer look.”
Iman and Yewell walked toward her, directly toward her. As she got closer, it looked as though she was going to walk right through me as the other couple had, but I found myself caught up in her stride. I felt the sudden surge of a different consciousness and was no longer in control of my own movements. I couldn’t look around anymore and couldn’t see the girl.
“What’s going on?” I said.
“We thought you should see her from the inside out,” said Yewell.
Sure enough, I sensed emotions and feelings that I had never felt before. I moved more lithely than I ever had, and my thoughts were completely unfamiliar to me.
“Angeline sees herself as an artist,” Yewell said, “however, she has yet to find her own voice.”
As we moved by the french doors, I felt my gaze shift to one of the glass window panes in the theatre door and was shocked to see the girl looking right at me in the reflection. I felt a sudden sense of frustration, and realized that I was experiencing life from her perspective. I sensed a flurry of insecurity behind the dark mascara and the loose fitting clothes, a girl that silently screamed out in a desire to find her place but was mired in the chaotic thoughts that raced through her head. As her eyes crossed over a flyer for auditions taped to the window, time froze.
“What happened?” I asked.
“This is Angeline’s call to adventure,” Iman explained. “She’s heard it many times before, and each time, she has ignored it.”
“Just as she is doing now,” Yewell said.
And with that, Angeline continued down the sidewalk without us, as we remained in front of the flyer. There was a quicker pace to her gait, as if the flyer had frightened her somewhat and she had no other choice but to flee.
“She’s actually a great actress,” said Iman. “However, she is so consumed by her agenda to find her artistic voice that she can’t hear it calling to her.”
“What’s going to happen to her?” I asked as Angeline reached the end of the block and pulled out a cigarette before crossing the street.
“For now,” Yewell said, “she’ll continue to struggle with the call.”
“Will she ever answer it?”
“Only when it becomes too loud for her to ignore,” said Iman. “But the call will continue until she’s ready to accept it.”
In an instant, I found myself in the library where a black man in his early forties looked over a newspaper.
“This is Carter,” Yewell said before I had a chance to ask. “He’s been a carpenter for most of his life, and out of work for the last several months.”
I looked closer to see that Carter was writing down phone numbers for possible jobs.
“So he’s trying to find another job,” I said. “That’s a call to adventure, right?”
“Yes and no,” said Iman. “He’s listening to the call of security. He’s been a carpenter so long that it’s all that he thinks he knows even though he doesn’t really enjoy it anymore and there is no opportunity to practice it with the current economy.”
Carter looked up at the seemingly endless rows of books, sighed, and looked back down to the newspaper.
“Why doesn’t he try something else?”
“That’s the million dollar question,” said Yewell. “That’s his call to adventure. But like so many people in his situation, it seems more prudent to go for what’s worked in the past instead of striving toward what he wants for his future.”
In another blink, we were in front of another table, where a young man in his twenties also looked over a newspaper. I looked around to see that we were now in front of Starbuck’s.
“This is Adam,” Iman said. “His goal is to write the perfect song.”
“So what’s stopping him?”
Adam looked up from the paper long enough to watch Angeline walk by. The paper seemed to melt in his hands and his eyes were transfixed on her until she rounded the corner. He hesitated a moment, and slowly went back to the paper.
“The perfect song is about love,” Yewell said. “But Adam had his heart broken once before, and fears giving himself over to it again.”
“Little does he know that love lifts us all,” said Iman.
With that, my feet lost contact with the pavement and the three of us floated up the side of the building.
“You know, they have elevators,” I said.
“Where’s the adventure in that?” Yewell said with a smirk.
We floated up the side of the building and into a window of the Buchanan building. A young woman sat at a desk, obviously frustrated with her workload.
“And who is this?” I asked.
“This is Jessica,” said Iman. “She’s been working here for five years and has reached what you refer to as the glass ceiling.”
“What’s her problem?”
“Her problem is that she knows ways that her company could save money and become more efficient, but the status quo keeps her from doing anything about it. Little does she know that she is the one that has created the glass ceiling for herself.”
“What’s she going to do?”
“The same thing all of you do,” Yewell said. “Continue on with what seems practical until she finds the courage to accept what seems impossible.”
“That’s the call to adventure?” I said. “To attempt the impossible?”
Before they answered, I found myself in the center of the park again.
“Look around you, Steve,” Iman said. “At one time or another, all of this seemed impossible. Be it the creation of a theatre, the writing of those thousands of books, the connection with other people, the development of the businesses that operate within it all, or the simple growth of these trees from tiny little seeds, from a limited perspective, all of it can seem impossible.”
“Yet every one of them,” Yewell continued, “was the developed by someone answering the call to adventure. Though every opportunity that faces you might seem daunting or even impossible, taken in the right stride, every call contains an answer if you only find the courage to perceive it.”
