Looking for Gold

Like me, my dad had a hobby that turned into a passion, and lingered on the edge of addiction, but he hoped to make it a career. He flung around words that only those in his trade understood clearly. He made contacts, got educated in every possible way, even the art of magic. He spent countless unpaid hours, days, even years trying to get it right. He planned, schemed, marketed, sought help, invested, and sought more help. I wasn't always on the same page as him, but I caught the gist of it-- he was looking for gold.

Aren't we all?

Let me explain, because this post isn't about a madman searching for an easy dollar. There is nothing easy about dreams this big and it is never about the money. It's a promise of a better future for everyone they love, of achieving something so great no one can imagine the moment, it's worth dying for, living for, dreaming of, it's proof that you are, that you were, and that you wanted to be. It's what we all strive for, just in different forms. So yes, it is about a madman but his dreams were like yours and mine.

He collected these little nuggets. They weren't worth much. Each golden beauty was deformed, odd looking, but held a hope, a promise, and potential. They were symbolic of his search; results of the efforts he'd made so far. Some were flukes, luck in disguise, others were really, really earned, and some he could have never found alone. And as the pile grew, so did the stories and the hope.


In his search he found other things, that really made the journey worthwhile, yet he didn't quit. I suppose, at some point, his soul committed, and the rest of him couldn't back out. Even the noblest of us, who get up at two am to fight a fire feel this drive they can't explain. It's our blind search for gold and it doesn't make sense to anyone, especially us.

He would get frustrated and excited with the success of others. He wanted them to succeed because it meant he was close, and really, everyone deserves to achieve their dreams. Yet he felt if he'd have dug two feet over, that could have been him. Why was he so stupid?

Did those who succeed stop searching? "Of course not, once you find it, that's when the real work begins." What? Really? Was he serious? He did all this so he could work harder? Deep down, I knew he was right. I was doing the same thing.

Did his obsession blind him to life? Au contraire, it gave him a passion for everything. He was a horrible dreamer, but he was dedicate to the real world. Somehow, the two relate and I sit here because of that flawless unwavering determination, yet that hopeful dreaming.

As I look at my little nuggets, piled so neatly in the shape of manuscripts, I know the truth. There is no end to the search for gold and finding it doesn't mean everyone will live happily ever after. It means more work. I'll never have enough gold nuggets in my pile to justify the journey, and so in the end I'll just push them around and retell their stories. Because that's what every journey is about... a story we can't wait to share.

Enjoy each nugget.

What are yours shaped like? What does your search for gold look like?