A Novice Idea

The first cold fact of the matter was this: "We're all gonna die someday."

You don't need an epiphany to figure that out. The loss of innocence is a slow process. The epiphany, if it comes, comes as a response to the loss of innocence - not as the loss of innocence itself. Neither does the epiphany come at the realization of the loss of innocence: the understanding that we're all dying. This is but the final symptom for the loss of innocence. No, the epiphany is when an individual faces up to the first cold fact, and decides to do something about it. This is the furnace in which man's most noble virtues are hammered into thought.
This sort of epiphany has been manifest in the strong arm of righteous revolution; the pen of Shakespeare and Decartes; the brush of da Vinci and the hammer of Michaelangelo; the scales of Beethoven, Mozart and Bach, and the steady hand of Magellan and Marco Polo. It is the flame that steels the backbone of mere mortals to take themselves where angels fear to tread, and wring out the very fibers of their being in some great endeavor. It is in the blood of all people, and it is uniquely human. It is the reason I decided to go on this journey, and it arrived on the heels of a novice idea.

Seldom does someone tell you, "Hey slugger. You're gettin' closer to death by the second. Whatcha gonna do about it?" Such a comment would be ridiculous in most any situation where people are trying to be polite and civilized. No one likes a scarecrow. But there are ways of getting the same point across, perhaps an epiphany point, by posing an even more ridiculous question.
"Do you wanna buy a sailboat and circumnavigate the globe?"
"Wacko," you think. "Fool's bather and a fool's errand."
After all, Rob, the lunatic asking the question, is a novice sailor. And I'm neon green.
"Yea, let's do it," I say, without hesitation.
Twenty months later I find myself here by the shores of the Chesapeake, helping my mates (all of whom know more about sailing and the complex inner-workings of the various systems and on-board machines than I do) put the finishing touches on a year's worth of work and singular craftsmanship. We have poured blood, sweat, emptied out our hearts (not to mention our pockets) and forsaken everything in pursuit of this endeavor. We have walked where angels fear to tread, and we have held fast with our last nerve. We have known ecstatic joy, quiet accomplishment, heartache and loneliness. We have glimpsed at Triumph and Despair. We know what Jerry means when he sings, "Don't murder me."

The first cold fact. Twenty months ago we decided to do something about it.
What a novice idea.