"And this is what the contemporary travel writer may have to do," wrote Anatole Broyard in his essay about Holman. "He may have to squeeze places until they yield something, anything."

Yes. I want to see. To squeeze every bit of life. Even the bits that differ from the hand I should have been dealt.

There is any number of reasons not to squeeze the moment. Or, at the very least, to wait... for the right moment, day, person, circumstance, you name it. What we fail to recognize is that our reluctance literally shuts us down, and in the end, truly blinds us. And only serves to flip life on its' head. As a result, we feel squeezed, hemmed in, overwhelmed or something akin to spinning out of control.

Ahhh. 'Tis the season with only one speed; pell-mell. Between celebration, reflection, merriment, shopping mall, church, family gatherings, and parties requiring loud and cheesy sweaters.

So while it is not my druthers, I too, can live stingy with my heart.

And when I do, it affects the way I see.

It affects the way I give.

It affects the way I receive.

Not unlike the story about the woman who lived in an elegant house with windows looking out onto stately trees and an English style garden. (My kind of garden.) And yet. She kept all of her shades drawn and sat in darkness to save her carpets from sun damage. When asked, she said, "I know that outside is an interesting world, but I am afraid to breathe the fresh air."

Of course she sounds crazy.  

And that'll never happen to me, I tell myself.  

Right.

And yet, how easy it is to close the door to our minds, our hearts, our spirit.

When I do not let life in, of what am I afraid?

Here's the irony; I'm most often afraid of the really good stuff--wonder, touch, tears, delight, surprise, joy, gladness, astonishment--wondering if I do deserve it after all.

Some movies I need to watch over and over. The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel is one of them. A group of disparate British retirees are lured by an invitation to "outsource" themselves for a stay at the newly opened Best Exotic Marigold Hotel in Jaipur, India. It is no surprise that, upon arrival, they discover a place far from a luxurious retreat. The advertising claim, bodacious... "for the elderly and beautiful." And who wouldn't welcome that enticement? Recently widowed housewife Evelyn Greenslade, who must sell her home to cover huge debts left by her late husband. Jean and Douglas Ainslie seek a retirement they can afford, having lost most of their savings through investing in their daughter's Internet business. Muriel, a retired housekeeper prejudiced against Indians and every other person of colour under the sun, needs a hip replacement operation, which can be done far more quickly and inexpensively in India. Madge is hunting for another husband, and Norman, an aging lothario, is trying to re-capture his youth. High Court Judge Graham Dashwood, who has for many years been retiring "any day now". During the retirement speech of a colleague, Graham declares, "Today's the day."   

Of course, not everything works out quite as expected.

And yet, how each "sees," determines the wealth of their experience. "India, like life," writes Evelyn, "is about what you bring to it."

Jean Ainslie brings anger, sprinkled with bitterness. Their life savings gone, their marriage lifeless, and her spirit drained.

"I want to stay in another hotel, the one in the brochure," she shouts at Sonny (the hotel's ebullient manager).

Why is it that every part of life that is not in the brochure, feels like an interruption and a threat?

In one encounter, she asks Graham, "How can you bear this country? What do you see that I don't?"
With a bemused smile, he answers, "The light, colors, the smiles. It teaches me something. Where people see life as a privilege and not as a right."

Here's the deal: I do want to see life.

This life.

I do not want to miss it.

Or regret the times that I have raced by the moment.

Sign me up. Where do I begin?

That's just it. There is no script.

In a recent Sabbath Moment I quoted my mentor, Lew Smedes, "Gratitude dances though the open windows of our hearts. We cannot force it. We cannot create it. And we can certainly close our windows to keep it out. But we can also keep them open and be ready for the joy when it comes." 

The Chafetz Chaim (Rabbi Yisrael Meir Kagin, leader in the Jewish world, 1838-1933) was asked about his impact and how he made a difference. He answered, "I set out to try to change the world, but I failed.  So I decided to scale back my efforts and only try to influence the Jewish community of Poland, but I failed there, too.  So I targeted the community in my hometown of Radin, but achieved no greater success.  Then I gave all my effort to changing my own family, and failed at that as well.  Finally, I decided to change myself, and that's how I had such an impact on the Jewish world."

(1) The James Holman story adapted from The Art of Pilgrimage by Phil Cousineau