What I'm Reading: World War Z

I’ve been pleasantly surprised by World War Z, Max Brooks’ Zombie-Apocalyptic classic. What’s been most surprising is the depth of insight into various themes that relate to my life. I expected a good read, but I wasn’t prepared to be personally challenged by Zombie fiction. Here’s an example of a passage that struck home:

“They showed us the meaning of democracy…freedom, not just in vague, abstract terms, but on a very real, individually human level.  Freedom isn’t just something you have for the sake of having, you have to want something else first and then want the freedom to fight for it. … They all had such grand dreams, and they’d lay down their lives for the freedom to make those dreams come true.”

I love the idea that freedom begins with a Grand Dream, a dream so strong and all-consuming that the dreamer will stop at nothing to see it realized, a dream so grandiose that it’s worth dying for. I don’t think I dream like that.

Maybe it’s because in my world I’m not prevented from seeing my own little dreams come true.  A good job, a family, a plasma screen. Nobody’s standing at Best Buy with a gun, dead-set against my plans. But am I merely settling for small, easy dreams? Is there a more worthy cause out there, a bigger dream, something worth giving my whole life for?

Freedom is expensive. The liberties I have as an American were paid for in blood and sacrifice.  True, it was people I never met, never cried out to for help. But I owe them. I owe it to those patriots to dream dreams worthy of the sacrifice they showed. What do I want badly enough that I would die to see it done? What dream in this age is worth my own blood?

If I’m honest, I know what those dreams are. It’s not that I don’t see them—I just find it easier to ignore them and settle for something cheaper. It’s like I’m at war with myself and my own laziness, battling that voice inside that says, “Let someone else do it.” Whatever happens in that inner war, I’m my own casualty. Some part of me has to die.

What a weird thought. How can I be at war with my own self? The fact remains, though, that there’s a part of me that doesn’t want to risk or fight, that wants to take the easy way out, every time. Killing that part of myself is the first big dream I need to dream.