The collegians were walking with a casual sense of purpose across the campus of Florida State University. It was just before 9am on an ordinary Tuesday morning in the middle of a north Florida February. The black Tahoe made its way gingerly through the tight interior campus streets and sea of back-packed students. These were brave Seminoles who apparently did not fear the anxieties that can go along with an early morning class. The warm brilliance of the sun was hitting me hard, still, I pushed my sun glasses up to have a closer, less-shaded look. There had been a time when these moments would make my eyes moisten and take me backwards to some sappy reflection of a wasted youth. During my long, extended vacation I deliberately decided it was time to take a giant step forward in my life. It was true. 
I had allowed myself to stay in neutral the past two years. It was common for me to resist change, and hang on much too tightly to what had gone before. Certainly, I reluctantly made adjustments in my life, even re-invented myself more than once. Observing the undergraduates moving to their sunrise classes I knew it was time to do it again. As I drove by Doak Campbell stadium and turned onto Varsity Drive, I let my Ray Bans drop down over my peepers. Now, I needed to block the sun and go back to who I was, who I am, and the dreams of who I can become.
Prior to making the trip up I-495 to Tallahassee, I had been on my annual golf vacation in Orlando. Eight guys, who, for six days indulge in golf, gambling, drinking, along with eating every meal as if they are going to the electric chair. The plane leaving the ground aimed towards Orlando was a cruel reminder on my 57th birthday, that I am much closer to a landing than a take-off.
Each morning I awakened to the sounds of high-powered lawn mowers, the first tee starters voice, and the door opening as my roommate returned from his early morning work-out. I have continually returned to this golfing haven in the sun for approximately 25 years. Although the cast has rotated over the years, the script for the trip remains intact. In the 51 weeks of the year that I am not at Bay Hill, I have managed to remain married, raise two children, switch careers three times, been fired, been broke, and found a way to become comfortable financially. The people I travel with have been knocked around themselves, some are still married, some are not .They have lost children, jobs, money, and the strut of youth. What we all share is the understanding of the shortness of life. We embrace the idea that things keep changing as we challenge ourselves to find ourselves. In recent years, our golfing efficiency is fading, the dinner bills get more expensive, and we raise each other more at the poker table. At the end of this trip, instead of being tired of each other, we talked about coming back in November and not waiting a full year. As I say to almost all proposed adventures these days – “I am in”.
The sun continued to blister in the blue sky. My ride was already waiting for me outside the Bay Hill lodge. “Austin get over here and get my bag in the trunk, I don’t want to miss any of the Super Bowl.”
A cold corona in hand, I hopped into the back seat of my caddy-for-the-week’s red 2010 Toyota Camry. From the driver’s seat Austin turned to me and said, “Rich, meet my girlfriend Shay.” This unlikely threesome headed west out of Arnold Palmer’s old stomping grounds toward Tampa’s Hard Rock Hotel and Casino. Austin, the tall, lean, handsome, young man from Nowhere, Wisconsin, is dreaming of making his living as a professional golfer. “I am going to work and let Austin pursue a living on the tour,” chimed in his future bride Shay. Trying to balance my admiration for anyone chasing their passion and my practical experience of knowing that most fall short, I did not speak and just nodded my head. I wanted to tell my new young friends all I had witnessed in the past: Young athletes, with no plan B, one-dimensional dreamers who, after falling short of exaggerated ambition, never grow into fulfilled adults. After thinking about my own sometimes failed lofty dreams, I continued chugging on my beer in silence.
About ten minutes before kick-off, the three of us checked in the Hard Rock, secured a seat at the bar, ordered up a seafood platter and were ready to watch some football.
The morning after the Super Bowl, Austin, Shay and I woke up with a Super Bowl hangover that I knew any recovery from would take a while. I dropped mucho shekels as the Atlanta Falcons stole defeat from victory. My two traveling companions drove me back to Orlando where I picked up my black Tahoe rental. Seeking balance and a dose of reality, I pointed my borrowed car north. Surely a surprise visit to Laura in Tallahassee would be the welcome respite I needed. As I hit the open highway, I checked all my messages which had been purposely ignored during the past few days. Besides the usual array of clients, friends and family, there were two texts that jolted my attention. One was from a CNN reporter, and the other from the director of the Oval Office Operations Keith Schiller. CNN is doing a profile on my childhood friend who is now one of the top advisors to the President of the United States. A peer from my adolescence, who the odds said would never make it out of New Paltz, was now the man closest to the most powerful person in the world. Cruising at 85 mph past Jacksonville, I picked up my phone to return my calls. On hold, I thought about the gap between Austin and Keith. One pursing, and the other already finding the Holy Grail. It really is all about the in-between. Somewhere in that canyon we either get to who we are or we don’t. A familiar thought came over me. I need to keep changing, growing, and evolving. I have been a good time Charlie, a husband, a teacher, a coach, a father, an insurance broker, an entrepreneur and an ex-jock. There is so much more to who I want to become. I raised the radio volume, and my speed, and kept moving down the highway.
FSU’s football stadium is right across the street from my daughter’s apartment. I did not let Laura know I was coming to see her so it was a surprise to catch her home studying. My first child is one of 35,000 undergraduates at Florida’s State University, and every one of them has a lifetime of choices ahead, the person they will marry, the career path they will follow, where they will look to settle, all the major decisions I have had to make. All of the opportunity that lay ahead for them to go on that journey of trying to become who they are supposed to be. I have the hope that Laura is one of the enlightened ones, one of the lucky ones who will be decisive enough to make well calculated choices, yet strong enough to not be bound by them. During my overnight visit, it was reinforced that Laura is much further down the path of growth than I was at 21. She understands patience and the benefits of not rushing into long-term commitment. If she is ever going to reach her full potential she will have to get knocked down early and often. Hopefully she will come through those times stronger, resilient, and more appreciative for all she accomplishes going forward. “You can have it all Laura. Be patient and independent and every door you knock on will open for you.” At my age I figured a father’s advice may finally have some credibility.
The last leg of my journey was a six hour ride from Tallahassee to the Hard Rock Hotel in Ft. Lauderdale. Alone again, approaching south Florida with the sun setting on the horizon I was passing Exit 352 on Interstate 495. I read the sign aloud “Silver Springs”.
It sounded like a metaphoric place where we all want to go. A place where life experience is valued, an intellectual, spiritual haven where learning and mentoring are equals. Only the well-rounded and weathered travelers are welcomed. A place that getting to will be less important than embracing the idea. The sun had gone down, completely. In the clouds of the half- light, I saw the cast of characters that had interloped in my latest adventure: my golfing buddies, Keith, Austin, Shay, and Laura. In the twilight of my thoughts, we all raised our glasses and made a toast in unison, “ To Silver Springs.”
