I’m on holiday at the moment in far north Queensland, which is an amazing place to visit.
During a stroll through some local shops, Karen and the kids insisted that I buy a new hat. My old hat (I like to call it my fishing hat, even though I don’t fish) has been worn for many years and time has taken its toll. Its stained, out of shape and, as my kids like to say, dorky.
I prefer to call it full of character, but I was down 4 votes to 1, so in the name of family democracy, I bought a new hat.
This isn’t as easy as it seems as I have a disproportionately large cranium, but eventually, despite my resistance, a suitable replacement hat was found.
The next day, we visited Birdworld in the small remote town of Kuranda. It was full of beautiful parrots of all sizes and colours and one particular precocious parrot took a liking to my new hat. As you can see from the above photo, it flew onto my head and started nibbling away. After about 10 minutes, I was left with a small hole in my new hat!
It seemed like such a waste.
My brand new hat was damaged after only one day, all because of a stupid parrot that couldn’t tell the difference between a hat and a seed.
But I’m proud of my new hat, because after only one day, it has a story to tell.
It’s tempting sometimes to try and live a pristine, safe life.
To keep ourselves wrapped in plastic, perfect and unused.
But that’s not the way it should be.
We should fully participate in life.
We should have stories to tell.
We should be slightly scarred by the experience.
And that should be OK.