Cross the Threshold

I've always been one to say that good enough is good enough. In some capacities, I hold true to that—when it's all you can give, it's all you can give. I don't really like it, though. Recently, I've been battling with crossing the threshold from good enough to good, or—without getting too far ahead of myself—even great. Settling on the verge without taking the next step isn't cutting it. Along the way to good, to cross the threshold—to improve—I've got to do anything to be better each day than the one prior. 

I fear I'm holding myself back in some regard, but am struggling to identify where I need to get out of my own way. 

A couple months ago, I was making rounds, calling friends from school with whom I hadn't talked in a bit. It was great to catch up with guys who'd moved onto big jobs in new cities, but I couldn't help but compare myself to each. We all do it, even without trying. 

My last call was to a friend from the rugby team, Nick. 

In the Bronx, every fourth guy is named Nick, believe it or not, so this one went by his last name, Lami. 

Lami's in the army now, which I knew, and it made it a little more difficult to communicate on a regular basis. When coupled with my already-awful communication habits, it's a miracle we stay in touch at all. But we do. 

Lami answered the phone screaming, which, as you may imagine, was alarming, and caught me off guard. 

"Joe! Hey, man, I'm about to jump out of a plane right now, can I call you back!?"

"Hey, Lam. Uh, word? Yeah, call me back when you can."

"Joey, I can't hear a word you're saying! I'll call you back tomorrow. Love ya brother!"

That was it. Riveting conversation. 

Nick's a paratrooper, so it's standard that he'd be jumping out of a plane. Keeping sharp and whatnot. Training. Honestly, I think it's bonkers they let him do it at all. He's a goofy little guy with a knack for the flamboyant. 

Maybe it does make sense.

It was late in the evening when I'd made the call, so once I got home, I went to bed, thinking only of how boring my life is, wanting desperately to do something great. Still, I was comfortable the next morning, waking up being no worse than I was the day before. Same routine netting same results. 

Nick called me back later in the day, clearly excited to catch up. Fort Bragg isn't such a thrilling place, evidently, so a chance to talk to someone was appreciated. 

Following up on our brief chat the night prior, he told me his jump didn't go as he would have hoped. 

"But you're alive..." 

"Well, yeah."

As I recall it, he'd gotten out of the plane fine. 

Something to note about Nick Lami is that he is a tiny man. Gravity, while still effective, tends to be less so on tiny men than it is larger ones. Admittedly, in an actual mission, the idea of my buddy floating slowly down to the ground, essentially a sitting duck, didn't seem abundantly comforting. 

The issue came when another parachute found its way under Nick. If you're one for physics, you'll recognize that parachutes do their best work when their path to the ground meets no impasse. The other jumper's chute took away all air flow to Nick's, buckling it, and landing him squarely on top. Since it was a training mission, they weren't jumping from especially high, and at this point, altitude was about to hit triple digits. 

So Nick had to crawl across this parachute, midair, jump off that, reengage his chute, and eventually float down the remaining couple-hundred feet. I think there were some other messy details, but the general concern is here. 

Nick's enthusiastic account rendered me speechless. I stammered through a few "what"s, peppered with a few "that's crazy"s until, at nearly the same moment, we put together that our disjointed phone call before he jumped would have been his last. He took that a little easier than I did. Then again though, Lami's great. 

I won't pretend that it had an instant impact on the way I live my life—few things ever do. I got over my immediate shock relatively quickly. Every once in a while, though, I come back to the story and do reflect. 

The threshold doesn't force you to cross it. If anything, it's a moving target, which you have to consistently chase. To go from good enough to great takes determination and waking up everyday not settling for 'not worse,' but working for 'better.' 

Lami's got it. He won't say so, but those who do rarely will. I'm working for it. Thanks for helping me find the motivation.