So we have many hot showers, many placebos and opiates, but only one true cure. The cure, as it seems, is far away and through a winding, coarse path that we must carve ourselves, rife with distractions (fair and foul) and pricker bushes and all manner of annoyances. It\’s the difference between finding a comfortable dugout to sit on a third of the way up the hill and climbing the hill to find a fully furnished cottage with all our favorite things and a gracious host. It\’s obviously worth the effort but the more time we spend in our dugout the more the cottage slips into a state of myth in our minds and hearts.
It\’s dry and rather safe in the dugout, much better than being out on the slippery hill, but it\’s still second best.
So what does it take to get off of one\’s ass and forgo those comfortable habits for something lasting and wholesome? I can\’t really say. I suppose the comforts (the dugout, the hot shower) have to fail us enough to motivate us to find the real thing. That, probably, could take a lifetime.