Sitting in a classroom

Yesterday, as I was sitting in kinesiology class, listening to my professor lecture about the finer points of muscle origins and insertions in the foot, I looked out the window and what did I see?

The world.
Going on out there.
Without me.

I rested my chin in my hand and watched the setting sun bathe the mountains in orange. And then I had the sad little dejected thought:"What the heck am I doing in here? Why am I not standing at the top of that mountain? I am not a science person. I do not care about dorsi flexion or anterior displacement. I do not care that I'm supposedly ruining my feet by wearing flip-flops. I do not care that I don't "load my weight" correctly on my lateral arch and my gait is therefore screwed up.

I'll have you know, professor, that I hiked to the top of a waterfall once, in flip-flops. And I've walked the world on that arch, with that gait! And I intend to keep walking, even if I'm doing it wrong!"

Of course, I like education. I like to learn. And I realize that there are millions of people in the world who would give a lot of things to be in my shoes (my flip-flops, if you will) right now. But sometimes my brain gets a little warped by all the information going in and I just want to ditch school and catch the next flight to Budapest, you know?

There's this little Hasidic (not to be confused with sadistic) saying that is printed on a little piece of cardstock sitting on my dresser:

Everyone should carefully observe which way his heart draws him, and then choose that way with all his strength.

I've observed the way my heart has drawn me, and I've chosen the way.

Now to just stick with it. The mountains will still be there tomorrow. The sun will still set. You can't have it all, at least not all at once. And anything worth chasing requires a little bit of sacrifice and patience anyway, right?