When I was little, adventure came to me. We dotted a great chunk of the U.S. with family vacations. Bathed in endless sun and white sand on a Caribbean cruise. Explored the East Coast through activity-packed summers spent with relatives. Even school sprinkled in field trips and weekend getaways - whale watching in San Diego, Sea Camp on Catalina Island, Knott's Berry Farm . . . there was so much to look forward to, I didn't even have to look forward! I always landed in the next big adventure just by living.
Now I wanted that again. An exciting life filled with so much fun that time flew. Rest had to be prioritized, because opportunities never ceased. Life took on a creative motion that overrode boredom, worry and the stress of day-to-day grinding. Little time was devoted to small decisions, because life itself was so much bigger.
Could I create an adventurous life? I'd ebbed and flowed through a decade of rough personal choices, self-imposed struggle and a fixation with trying to make it. I was stepping into a new chapter, but adventure seemed achingly elusive from where I stood. What would it take to breathe in the possibility of more than the mundane? How could I see beyond my circumstances? Was I ready for adventure?
The furthest I could go was knowing I wanted it. Blossoming to the idea before it became a tangible flavor. I was open for a taste of adventure and that's where possibility started.