I've spent the last five days locked safely in a sedan, road tripping with two college friends. Needless to say, it was an adventure. And yes, trip-related posts are forthcoming. But for now I'd like to share a thought that's been buzzing around in my head for the last one thousand miles.

Sitting in a car for 12 hours a day = lots of reading time. I polished off three books and a friend's memoirs--- a series of interwoven stories that Ryan scribed nearly a decade ago.  This honors thesis wasn't circulated to many.  In fact, I think the only reason I received a copy was due to my heartless editing... or maybe he just thought I needed to learn some hard lessons. I hadn't read its 64 pages in at least five years and thus decided my road trip was a prime opportunity for resurrecting Ryan's precious words.

Near his conclusion, Ryan writes:

My grandfather died this past fall. He and I were not terribly close but my father and his brothers told me the "stuff" of Grandpa's last months of living. He talked about World War II.     He talked about London the night the bombs fell. He talked about business ventures he should have taken but didn't. He talked about B-52s and fear and the human spirit. 

He didn't ever talk about his golf game. 

Struggle dignifies life because the only things worth having are the things that demand all-engaging fights to obtain; they are the things people want to tell about when death is on the edge of their labored breath. 

The key to struggle is in how we respond to it; it is in recognizing which struggles are the right struggles, and engaging in those--even joyously.  It is in setting our eyes on redemption, knowing that honest looks at life rarely yield easy, clean answers.  And it is knowing that those answers, although murky and sometimes formless and unsatisfying are the stuff that beautify and give meaning, hope, and peace to life.

I adore my friend Ryan; he is the rarest of persons with a contagious authenticity.  I'm especially keen on this old friend because I was privy to his college-years transformation.  He enrolled as a pompous sort who donned unwashed Carhartts and dreadlocks but left school one of the most disarming, honest, and caring guys I have ever known. It's his words shared above and his challenges that follow me into the coming days.

In Ryan's honors thesis, a memoir of lived experiences, he never writes about romantic heartbreak.  However, he addresses heartache on nearly every page because it's universal to the human experience. We are meant to struggle because it makes our lives richer--- in the way a long, humid run makes water a sacred liquid.  Our lives demand struggle because it is through this process that we fully engage our hearts.  It is in struggle that we come to value what is most important, our attention is finally shifted from lesser demands.

My heartache has been a true struggle. I wouldn't wish it upon my worst enemy, and yet, I'm finally to a place where I don't wish it away from my life either.  I'm learning what this heartache shows me clearly: love is good and worth fighting for, but a man who doesn't fight for my heart doesn't warrant struggle.  I must be wise and recognize "which struggles are the right struggles, engaging in those--even joyously."  Instead of wanting a lost love to return, I release. I move forward with an arsenal of good memories, forgiveness, and lessons.

I am grateful for my buddy Ryan, for the life he leads and the words he's left me with all these years.  They break me, restore me, and teach that struggles can beautify our lives.  The heartache process hasn't yielded pristine answers, some thoughts are still murky and unsatisfying--- as Ryan claims.  But the answers add beauty and meaning and hope to my days.