Being Beckoned

Recently I read the entire Horatio Hornblower series of books, and I also just completed the first book in the Master and Commander series. This reveals an obvious fascination with life on the sea during the Napoleonic era. Before the Industrial  Revolution and the age of machinery hit, men at sea were entirely dependent on and at the mercy of the weather to get anywhere. What becomes acutely obvious when reading these books is that a sensitivity to meteorological change meant the difference between life and death. Knowledge and skill in exploiting those changes heightened the chances of survival. Reading the winds meant escaping from the equatorial doldrums, riding the titanic storm, or outwitting the enemy in battle. Skillful maneuvering always brought high praise while poor seamanship elicited disdain of shipmates in the best circumstances, mutiny in the worst.

For most of us, our lives have become comfortable since then. We have to create situations to experience distress from the elements. We go camping, mountain hiking, surfing, and snorkeling to expose ourselves to the elements and danger. Watch the Olympics, and you wonder what new sport will be created by the time of the next Olympics for people to compete in, and how much more dangerous will the risks be. When I watched the skeleton competition (it's the opposite of luge where you go down the track on a tiny sled feet first on your back--skeleton is head first on your stomach), I could only wonder what kind of mind you had to have to go 80 plus miles per hour with your head only an inch from the track. Considered one of the most dangerous of Olympic events, it had difficulty getting accepted as a sport because of how risky it was. These people obviously love the challenge of danger.

We recently had a decently large snowfall. It created inconvenience and cancellations. There was no ducking this one. We had to face and deal with the weather. I find big snowfalls invigorating. I love to get outside and embrace it. I love to drive in it, shovel it, and stomp through it. Why? Because it is a challenge. I feel the weather is inviting me to come out and wrestle with it. And when that wind blows in my face, and my cheeks are chilly, and my legs begin to ache from wading through knee deep snow, I feel alive and that all is well. And when Horatio Hornblower or Lucky Jack Aubrey decline going to their cabin when the winds get strong and the rain is pelting down, I know that they also are glad to be alive and on deck. The elements beckon to them to meet the challenge.