A man troubled with committing to something greater than himself only finds excuses. A man troubled should take a hike and get lost. Left with only the fear of never returning.
Only then, when he has nothing to distract him from himself--when there is no one telling him what he should do; no family or friend reminding him to care; no familiar path to take.
When there is no more useless disturbance--the noise and banality of everyday life.
Only when there is that desperate, elemental stillness left--and his humanity just about crawling over jagged rocks scraping against his feeble knees--does he hear the animal within. Thrashing against the crumbling walls of normality, comfort, and complacency.
It's at that moment that he desperately digs within and lets it loose. And it's starving. Starving for sustenance. For survival. For life itself--and all it has to offer.
Only when a troubled man is forced to become starved for life does he willfully commit to it. To thrive.
Because he no longer fears getting lost and never returning. No. He fears getting lost and returning. Returning to a life teeming with emptiness.
All dramatics aside. I got lost. And while I did get a little worked up about it, getting lost made me commit to getting back.
Sometimes that's all we need. To get lost. So that we can remember the reasons why we need to get back.