Golden Opportunities

I can't remember my very first golden opportunity. In fact, I'm sure there have been many that came and went which I can longer recall. But however good my memory of them are, there has been a string of such moments that shaped my life into what it is now, and I owe much of it to my parents: the facilitators of said opportunities.

I have never been confident talking with people. Regardless of this fact, my Mum frequently pushed me outside of my comfort zone to talk to people: her friends, the cashier, strangers, clerks, anyone with a face. It was difficult. I would sit in the car nervously fingering the cheque deposit envelope whilst Mum ran me through the instructions of going into the bank, approaching the counter, smiling and saying hello, then handing the envelope to the teller. Six-year-old me would almost run toward the building, furtively tip-toe across the dark, plush carpet to the desk, smile quickly and thrust the envelope across the counter to the chuckling lady before retreating with as much self-control not to sprint as possible, before getting outside the building. Then I would pelt to the car, slip into my seat and heave a sigh of relief whilst Mum told me well done... but you didn't need to run.

It was this prodding encouragement which brooked no argument that prepared me with courage I needed to reach out and grab golden opportunities as I grew older. Despite my innate people-pleasing desires that didn't want to cause bother, my parents had the clarity of vision to recognize opportunities in my life that I should seize. With every opportunity, I realized, came a certain amount of daring, and a certain level of risk I didn't always wish to take. While in some cases I probably missed out because I stubbornly refused to step out, in other cases my parents wouldn't take no for an answer, and with shaky legs and a pounding heart, I would have to make the leap.

One such occasion was sitting in a room full of musicians who were attending a Tommy Emmanuel masterclass in the city's renown music store. It was Q&A time, and I had a question I was aching to ask. It was a simple question really, and I had I bothered to go online and look it up, I could've worked it out by that time already. However my Dad kept prodding me, "ask your question! Go on, put your hand up and ask!" I ummed and ahhed for about two minutes before he poked me in the arm, and I raised a shaky hand. 

"Yes! A question from the young lady down the back!" Tommy immediately said. 

In a halting voice, I phrased my question, awkwardly holding my guitar and gesturing to my problem with playing higher harmonic notes. 

"Come up here," he beckoned. 

I froze in place, and with a nudge and a "go on!" from Dad, I squeezed past the people on my row and scurried down the front. Bending down from the stage box he was standing on he said, "show me." I fumbled with a chord and plucked at the dead harmonic. There was a moment's pause, after which he stated simply, "that's because you're playing it here. Play it there," he pointed. I played it and the harmonic rang out. "Ohhhh...!" I let out as I had the lightbulb moment. Everyone laughed, and Tommy smiled at me before leaning forward again, running his fingers lightly over the strings to show me a waterfall of harmonics. I stared, watching with delight before everyone clapped and I went back to my seat, flushed and elated: the only person called to the front for a moment with Tommy during the whole session. A golden opportunity that so easily could've slipped away if it weren't for my Dad's prodding.

Another occasion was after we finished reading the Ranger's Apprentice series and my Mum told me I should email the author, John Flanagan and invite him to come visit our library for an author talk (my library held many of these kinds of events). It sounded so audacious and demanding to me, but Mum kept mentioning it and reminding me of the idea whenever the topic came up until one day I sat down and did it. I told John how much our family enjoyed his books, and how my brothers had even designed daggers to his books' specifications. Amazingly, he emailed back, and not only that, inside of a few months, I found out he was visiting our town's library. We smuggled the boys daggers into the library, and they were able to show them off to John who was duly impressed; to the point of using them in his talk to demonstrate the books' weapons to a room full of school kids. As a library volunteer at the time, I got to stay on for the extra sessions that he spoke at, and was invited by the librarian to join both her and John for lunch. I can vividly remember sitting there, nibbling on an egg and lettuce triangle sandwich across from John Flanagan, and all but pinching myself. I'm having lunch with my favourite author!

I wish I had a dollar for every time I'd been in a crowded place where something exciting was happening, and I saw my Mum and Dad's face as they yelled, "Go! Do it! Go and ask! Walk up there! Say something! It's a golden opportunity!" Even now, that phrase rings in my mind with the exuberance and conviction of my parents' voices. Whilst to this day I still have an inner struggle when it comes to talking to people or stepping outside of my comfort zone, I've learned that courage is a habit, and daring is like a muscle: the more you practise it, the easier it comes. If it weren't for this fundamental coaching from my Mum and Dad, I doubt I would have had half the life-changing and inspiring experiences that I've been privileged to have had. I certainly wouldn't have had the courage to walk up to Tommy Emmanuel a few years later at a guitar camp whilst he was in the middle of his breakfast and ask if he would sing a duet with me at the student concert (he did), I wouldn't have flown cross country (or internationally, even) to meet friends I'd never met before, and I wouldn't have designed lyric posters for one of my favourite artists because I never would've put my art on display to be found in the first place.

In Scripture, James says that we have not because we ask not. He preempts this statement by saying, "you lust but do not have" (Js 4:2-3). The truth is, opportunity is available to everyone, but most people would rather envy those who have seized those opportunities then take the risk for themselves. I think the problem is golden opportunities often challenge our comfort. The way Edison put it, "opportunity is missed by most people because it comes dressed in overalls looking like hard work". Good things don't just happen. Being told—or simply telling yourself—that, "I could never do that," "I'm not good enough," or "there's no way that could happen" creates the mentality that good things can never happen to you because of who you are. But I'm learning that often, good things are brought to life by people who don't look at the odds. They don't take account of history. Their mentality is more, "wouldn't it be awesome if..." and then dare to reach, work, and fight for it. Sometimes all it takes is raising a shaky hand and asking a stupid question.

There is a whole world outside of our comfort zones, and if that doesn't sound like a golden opportunity, I don't know what does.