I wouldn’t say I’m a particularly adventurous person. Some things definitely scare me – skydiving, bungee jumping, driving in Los Angeles. You know, usual fears.
My childhood wasn’t particularly adventurous. I broke my arm and became so fearful of hurting myself again (and the subsequent $$$ signs behind such an injury) that I became a quintessential indoor kid. I read lots and sparingly did much more than ride a bike or swim in a backyard pool in the Orlando summer. I followed rules and not just the rules my parents set, but the rules I set in my own head. They trapped me. Made me feel safe and stifled my sense of exploration.
After leaving suburbia, I began to change and understand in a more removed sense the way I had stifled myself and the way my childhood had stifled adventure. The first glimpse I had of adventure – on a trip to Europe at 17, I was hooked. I craved more. More of the world and more from my life.
Today, I’m stilled hooked in different ways – experiencing new cultures, new foods, new places, new friends. The world is vast and vastly different. All of it created to be loved, cherished and experienced.
Some days (like today), I see that I need to push myself in new ways – challenge my perception of the world, do something I am afraid of doing, eat something crazy, be filled with passion for the world and adventure in new ways.
On to the next adventure…