Mud

Five inches deep, maybe more. My toes gushed into it, and I felt a thrill largely akin to that of a five-year-old who gets to sink their hand into a bowl of brownie mix. It was almost the same color as well, and the texture of chocolate pudding. If I hadn't known better, I might have tasted it to see if the graininess was undissolved sugar. As it was, I watched the river run by on the other side of the rock that sheltered my gooey bowl of goodness from the full force of the current, and thought.

What a helter-skelter life this is. I'd finally resorted to the park - and mud playing - after several days of running around crazily trying to balance what one of my friends described as the "hundreds of spinning plates" of life. It seemed, especially yesterday, like the moment I got one going I had to run off to try to fix another, and by the time I got back the first one had stopped spinning.

I had just recently returned from a miraculous weekend in the mountains of Colorado. There, with three of my best friends, several dozen young people, and a smattering of ambitious adults; we crossed toxic rivers, saved lives, proposed new systems of education to the unknowing world, looked into each other's eyes, ate, danced, played, and generally found ourselves. As always, I came away with new best friends, new perspectives, and a new opportunity to find who I really am. I went into it feeling confident, and came out transformed.

Every time I take a group to do a youth conference, the members of my team challenge each other individually on ways we can each take things to the next level. We live by the motto that if we want the youth to become something, we'd better do it ourselves first. This time, we sat around a picnic table next to the lodge. There was a feeling of confidence in the group - two of them were veterans of this kind of event with me, all three had participated in the large youth conference I help with every year, and one had even been at last year's Colorado trip with me. We knew what we were getting into, and we were poised and ready for what the next few days might bring. After some small chat, I asked who wanted a challenge. K. asked first, and after a moment of pondering and inspiration, we gave him one that literally changed the dynamic of the entire conference. I have never seen one person's love affect the entire group quite so pointedly.

Then it was my turn. I asked, and S. thought for a moment, and then said "Don't talk." I know how that sounds, however, our trust was such that I knew exactly what she meant. I'd already told them how sometimes my weakness has been to step it up too much when that saygobedo voice tells me to be still. (strange enough for me, who used to not be able to say anything in a group!) I told her I accepted, and that I had a reciprocal challenge for her: "Take charge." There, just an hour before the youth were slotted to arrive, we switched roles. She was to run the schedule, make things happen, and communicate with the leaders, I was simply to inspire the youth, coach her, and have the time of my life.

Wow. The next three days were powerful, for me and for all of us. It had been quite a bit of time since I was not the "responsible" one who ran everything, made decisions, took the lead and delegated. It gave me an entirely different conference experience. Thinking back, my favorite moments include playing with magnets with four or five 13-year-old boys, letting them draw me pictures off of Pokémon cards, or sitting on rough ground and chatting while waiting to be led blindfolded up the hill during our simulation. I was able to love the moments and taste the pure joy of simple human interaction. I love being me, and being present.

Getting home, I thought I knew the way to keep that feeling forever. Then, the whirlwind of life struck me and I was caught again in the furious game of spinning plates. After two great days, a mediocre day, and a couple of really difficult days, I found myself at the riverbank, playing in the mud.

It had taken me about four hours to get to the point where I felt free enough to play. I’d been vision questing all day, seeking answers and direction for my life. In contrast to the Native American tradition from which the term comes, I didn’t have three weeks to spend fasting and praying in the wilderness for my “totem,” vision, and name to present to the tribe that I might take my place and identity as a man (or woman) among my people. All I had was six hours in the park, but I was determined to make the best of it. I wanted to know myself and my purpose so clearly that I could take myself and the people I lead to the place where they want to go – who we were meant to be.

I learned a great lesson from mud playing, and from the Colorado mountains, and from looking at Pokemon with a 13-year-old simply because he thought it was the greatest thing in the world. First, play is perhaps the most definite sign of maturity. It is only a truly mature person who chooses to enjoy the moment for the moment in the way that children constantly do. Many times, we get too caught up in trying to spin plates – and showing other people how many plates we can spin – that we miss the whole point. Life is not about spinning plates. Life is about living.

Second, I learned that the best things generally happen when we cease to worry about who is in the spotlight and start thinking about how we can serve. I had one of the best weekends of my life while helping my friend lead. Truly successful businesses and organizations follow this principle.

Third, I learned that direction comes to those who seek it. Heaven favors those who take the time to set aside the demands of other people and truly live. If you try this, you may just find themselves up to your knees in mud – and loving every minute of it.