Three, Two, One...

Last Saturday, Old Sol's marigold fringe eased obliquely above the northeast horizon well before 5 AM, when my alarm went off. I was awake already, anxious to share a dream.

I soon departed for town, a 20-plus-mile drive on a two-lane road, rolling and twisting among the frost heaves. Pussywillows as well as tiny aspen and birch buds signaled that the recalcitrant chill of winter was finally behind us. Rotten pond ice and a few shaded patches of snow were not enough to convince anyone otherwise.

Over a leisurely breakfast of coffee, eggs, and reindeer sausage, I bantered with three friends: a grandfather, his grandson, and a soon-to-be-father of twins. The conversation was eclectic and rambling. We talked of birth, dying, and electronic gadgets. However, we had a common theme that day. We all wanted to share the dream.

By 8 AM we saddled up and headed northeast into the hills of gold country, where pioneers and placer miners chased their dreams beginning a hundred years ago. The dreamers' ghosts are everywhere, still lingering along the creeks lined with stands of black spruce. Among them are disintegrated cabins, snapped drag lines, fractured pulleys, and even rusted hulks of giant dredges abandoned in place over half a century ago.

Less than an hour later, we marshalled with a half dozen other dreamers in the roadside shade of ancient black spruce trees and...uh, a rocket. The odd juxtaposition marked the entrance to Poker Flat Rocket Research Range, where scientists scheme to overcome their earthbound status to study aurora and other atmospheric phenomena. It is the perfect gathering place for dreamers of the 21st century.

Within a few minutes, the Dream Team leader, a world-renowned professor, ushered us to a small, blue metal building, where the magic was about to unfold before a motley bunch of scientists, amateur radio operators, and other supporters, including one dog. There the good doctor laid out the long pleats of a latex weather balloon upon a table. (I must confess it looked like a giant condom for an unimaginable beast.)

Others prepared support lines, a parachute, and three tiny foil-wrapped packages containing radio tracking devices and a digital camera. I busied myself studying the parts, asking questions, and snapping photos. Eventually the balloon took shape as the helium rushed in. Two handlers with white gloves corralled the lively blob indoors while the wind whipped inside the partially shut garage door.

Then it was time. Moving outdoors, the launch team gingerly attached the payload lines, and the remaining teammates held the dangling electronics boxes off the ground. At 10:09 I heard, "Three, two, one..." and she was away, heading upward and towards the northwest following a yellow pilot balloon launched moments before. Our dream was alive.

We stood transfixed and flew in our minds side-by-side with the balloon. We could see a shrinking white dot against an azure sky. Two thousand, three thousand, five thousand, ten thousand feet. How high would it go, and what would it see? The earth's curvature, hazy blue below, and pitch darkness above? Would it survive the inevitable fall to earth? We all dreamt of great things, a vicarious adventure into the unknown, to the edge of space.

http://www.bear.437am.com/

Waiting

Often we wait, shackled by what-ifs or if-onlys. We rationalize that our circumstances won't allow anything else, but really we won't allow anything else. A true obligation -- e.g., to care for our children -- is immutable. On the other hand, a burden is a perception, and we can alter our perception by shifting our point of view. This requires courage.

Courage empowers and emancipates, as if through self-manumission we free ourselves to pursue dreams, to open a door into the unknown, or simply to see things in a different light. This is not to lack fear, but rather to cope with it. Perhaps the first sign of courage is to ask, "Why wait?"

http://www.stevepavlina.com/articles/courage-to-live-consciously.htm