Resisting the gray twilight...

"Far better it is to dare mighty things, to win glorious triumphs, even though checkered by failure, than to take rank with those poor spirits who neither enjoy much nor suffer much, because they live in the gray twilight that knows not victory nor defeat." -Theodore Roosevelt

Why do we shrink back? What is it about normality and numbness that charms us so? Why do we linger in the gray twilight?

The sun is brilliant and glorious but can sear and scorch. The night is mysterious and dazzling but can chill the bones and blind the eyes. But isn't it better to be seared and scorched than never to stand in the sun? Isn't it better to be cold and blinded than never to have gazed into the black of the sky and chanced to see the stars?

Isn't it far better to dare mighty things? To win glorious triumphs? To fail miserably and be broken to pieces than to live a numb, safe, comfortable half-life untouched by the aching beauty of adventure?

Isn't it better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all? I'd rather lose tragically than never love deeply. I'd rather be made the fool than never care enough about anything to live with foolish passion.

Why do we shrink back at the proposition of pain? Have we not endured being beaten and broken under it before and yet survived? I've hurt. And yet I'm still here. So why is the avoidance of hurt a defining reality in my life?

I think I'd prefer the throws of agony to the dim mediocrity of those who never dare.

I'd rather bleed than endure the unbearable pangs of remorse induced by wasted moments and thus wasted life.

I would rather live deeply, love with reckless abandon, dare with unbridled bravery, dream without a trace of cynicism and die with the rare honor of having actually lived.

It is an honor that can be purchased with nothing other than moments embraced, whatever that entails. The heroes of the earth who blaze through the gray twilight like shooting stars, burning with brief brilliance, are those who have taken in a lovers' embrace joy and sorrow, triumph and defeat, unspeakable pleasure and unbearable pain each in their turn. They are the noble, valiant few who do not merely exist, but rather do the unthinkable and actually live.

I'd rather stand in the sun and crawl in the midnight hour than linger in the gray twilight.

I'd rather drink to the last dregs the cup of violent joy and suffering than sip idly at the sleep-inducing potion of comfort poisoned with regret.

C. S. Lewis once said "we fear failure more than we love life, so we refuse the great adventures."

Apologies, Jack, but that's not a "we" I want to be a part of anymore.