Lions

By any measure, I had a wonderful childhood. A loving mom and dad that raised a great family, fantastic home-cooked meals, great vacations, and all of the cookies that a boy could want. I went to nice schools, got good grades and had great friends.

The only thing that was missing was lions.

I was listening to an interview the other day and the interviewee was asked how he became a renowned biologist. Instead of saying that he studied hard in high school, went to a good college to study biology, and then got a job as a biologist, which was more or less my equivalent path to a business career, he talked about living in 20 cities before he turned 18, driving a cab in Manhattan, becoming a reporter for a newspaper in Portland, and then training lions for movies in Los Angeles.

He elaborated on his initial drive to L.A. with his friend, and the lion in the backseat (not in a trailer), which was the kind of adventure that prompted this Reflection.

You see, I had a great childhood, but I don’t have any lions. Nothing that happened to me would require a double-take. Few stories worthy of a best-selling biography.

I suspect that this is the reality of most people, too. But sometimes I wish I had a story about a close (but unintentional) encounter with Chinese triads, or getting lost in the wilderness of Alberta, or maybe just a big misunderstanding with law enforcement that left me in handcuffs for an hour while they sorted out who I was.

Maybe those are silly examples, but I guess the point is that passing down lions – stories and adventures worthy of the lives we’ve been gifted – to the next generation would be a cool thing to do. Perhaps it would be the greatest gift we could give.

I don’t know exactly how to do that, but I know that the occasional beach vacation, subdivision life, and decent public schools probably won’t suffice.

My job is to give the gift of adventure. My job is to seek out stories worth of being remembered. And then it is my job to write the first line.