*Chapter 29 of Resurrection is now available to read here.
We set limitations on what we’re willing to do, how much we spend, what results we hope for the future. It defines our music system: my stereo’s going to be the best of any of my friends; I only want to play vinyl records; I won’t have woofer boxes in my home, it’s open baffles only; I am a tube guy; only class A for me.
Once defined, we ride our boundary fence to make sure we’re not straying too far in any one direction. After all, we’ve boxed ourselves in and now we want to make sure we don’t drift over the edge. Otherwise, of what use are the fences?
Funny thing is, we can read a review, talk to a friend, see something outside the fence that appeals to us, and bingo! The fence moves.
What would happen if we tore down the fence altogether—if we weren’t so hidebound in how we define ourselves and our systems?
In my case, I get a bit anxious and unsettled. I have to take the new in small little gulps lest I choke. What I’ve learned is that a growing collection of incremental change eventually adds up to big changes.
It’s an interesting thought to cut small sections of the barbed wire of our boundary fence now and then just to see if the notions we cling to wouldn’t be happier with a bit of fresh grass.
To extend our cowboy metaphor.
