The draw of a good story is often in the daring adventure that is taken. The rescuing of princesses, the risk of exploring, the sacrifice in battle. We long to be swept up into one that is our very own — reading, watching and traveling the world to touch the hem of these mysteriously thrilling experiences. There is something that draws us — it calls out to us from deep places like a foreign voice that speaks with a native tongue. It does not overpower our will but awakens it, inviting us to take a daring step onto an unknown path, to risk what we would otherwise want to keep safe. Each of us, in a thousand small and very pronounced ways, are longing to be a part of a greater tale.
But there is something else us that draws us, not outward but inward. It is the siren song of safety, the commercialization of comfort. The deep cry for adventure that we have has been buried, lulled to sleep by warm beds and ever-flowing streams of entertainment. The urge to live for something bigger than ourselves seems like an unaffordable luxury next to putting food on the table and paying taxes. Of course, we think, a faithful member of society should be reasonable and responsible, never causing trouble or stepping out of line.
But don’t be fooled by this apparent logic. This is just what comfort and safety aim to do — they tells us that risk is waste and adventure is needless. They use the tone of temperance to remind us that wanting more than what we have is exorbitance. They lay on us a burden of guilt when we even begin to faintly dream of something greater. They beckon us to weigh the dangers of the unknown with the predictability of the familiar. They pacify the wild cry welling up in each of us with the offer of control and convenience.
And so, the desire of adventure lays dormant within us — like a buried seed waiting for a ray of light and a drop of water.
In the story of The Hobbit, Bilbo Baggins is a well-respected and well-off Hobbit who has an aversion to adventures. He is well accustomed to peace, enjoying the simple things of life like his regular cups of tea, multiple meals and his well-kept garden. To Bilbo, not unlike many of us, the idea of adventure was seen as a disturbance from what he had grown to love and expect — his unruffled comfort.
“‘We are plain quiet folk and have no use for adventures. Nasty disturbing uncomfortable things! Make you late for dinner! I can’t think what anybody sees in them,’ said our Mr. Baggins, and stuck one thumb behind his braces, and blew out another even bigger smoke-ring.” - J.R.R. Tolkien (The Hobbit)
But fate had something else to say about Bilbo’s aversions. If you know the story, Gandalf (a friendly Wizard) comes to visit Bilbo and invites him to join in on an adventure to reclaim the lost home of the Dwarves. Well… I must be honest, the phrase invite is not altogether a true representation. Gandalf didn’t particularly invite Bilbo as much as thrust adventure (quite unexpectedly and unwelcomely) upon him. But after some time sitting with the Dwarves and hearing them talk about the great tales and deeds of far-away lands, something unforeseen took place:
As the narrator informs us: “Then something Tookish woke up inside him, and he wished to go and see the great mountains, and hear the pine-trees and the waterfalls, and explore the caves, and wear a sword instead of a walking-stick.”
You see, the “tookish” part of Bilbo was from a side of his family that was known for going off on adventures (very unhobbit like indeed). This small seed that was buried and dormant had suddenly been awoken by the hearing of grander tales. And if you know the rest of the story and the larger epic of The Lord of The Rings — you could say, without much of a stretch, that the salvation of Middle-earth begun at this exact moment — all from a small creature who decided to trade in his comfort for courage.
The purpose of all the stories we read and tell isn’t to replace our experience of adventures but to remind us that we are living in one at this very moment. It is to awaken us to the reality of danger and reward all around us — to open our eyes to see that the stakes are high, our lives are short and the needs around us are great. Good stories stand as a piercing voice among the white-noise of our culture, urging us to see that the need of the hour is still courage over fear and sacrifice over selfishness. These stories call us to live brave lives — standing up for truth and beauty, protecting the vulnerable, searching for what has been lost and exploring what hasn’t been found.
Don’t be lulled by the siren songs of safety and comfort. Let the tale of great deeds awaken something tookish inside of you. Trade your walking stick for a sword and go live on the great adventure that God created for you to live on!
Welcome to Substack! And well said. Glad to have you writing and contributing here and starting an adventure of your own here!