I found all kinds of wonderful sentences, paragraphs and trains of thought in her collection of essays “Upstream”. Here are two of the sentences that keep coming back to me, “I am not a traveler. Not of that sort.” She writes this after listing overseas trips she has taken noting that she has, “never forgotten how it felt to think I was going to fall off the planet.” So she wasn’t an adventurer in the classic sense that often includes travel, but no one who has read her work could deny her adventurous spirit.
While traveling to far corners of the globe unnerved her, she held that nerve on so many travels that others would shrink from. She escaped from a difficult childhood home whenever possible into the the woods, into books. She chose a career as a poet at a young age. Maybe she couldn’t refuse that call, but it still seems daring.
I don’t claim to know her work in its entirety, but what I know of it tells me what kind of traveler she was. She was willing to expose herself to the unknown, to question the natural and spiritual worlds, to probe further, seeking. She had the intrepid spirit of an artist traveling into the darkness before us all, holding her lantern high. She could look unblinkingly into the abyss and then turn and send back poems to light our way.
For years now we have been living in a city. It’s a good city with excellent public transport, parks, a good arts scene, amazing food from all over the world, a mediterranean climate. As cities go, it’s and excellent version. But we are all tired of the city. Worn down by the noise, the closeness of buildings and people. We are craving space and all of us fantasize about having more room in different ways. My husband wants a shed for his adventure gear and a workshop. My older daughter wants to grow her own food and have a horse. My youngest just wants a bigger room she can dance in and paint blood red.
I’m thinking of a room outside that. A room defined on one side by a mountain, on the other by the ocean with a vaulted ceiling of sky above. I’m dreaming of stepping outside into snow and inhaling the the sharp winter air like a peppermint in my lungs. I’m dreaming of wandering through the woods carpeted with soft moss and wild blue berries. I’m dreaming of sliding into the silken water of the lake and disappearing from the land for a few moments. All of these things are very beautiful, but I want more from them than their beauty.
The natural world has a way of talking sense into me. I enter this room wringing my hands and lamenting, maybe loudly. The ocean gives me a sideways glance and goes back to kneading water against the shore. I thump down on the damp sand. Fretting. Before long I notice a little crab I’ve never seen before navigating the canyons of my foot prints. I notice that the tide seems to be going out. I wonder what kind of fish might be in the water right in front of me.
Then I remember, “Oh yes, I was worried about something.” Not just worried, so anxious I couldn’t think clearly and had to go for a walk. “Yes, that is a problem.” I think, but my relationship to it has changed. The problem no longer has me by the jugular. I’ve stepped back and gained some dignity and composure. I think about it some more while watching the sunlight glint along the skin of the ocean. Now I can see the possible solutions. I can listen to reason.
There is something that wilderness can cure that other forms of self medication simply can’t. The usual escapes like drugs, sex, money, shopping… They just crate more void. The wilderness creates a void, but then fills it. Fills it with – itself, the grander scheme of things. For me it puts things in perspective. For many it makes space for healing. Brings people back to themselves. A quieter, wiser version of themselves.
Today I attended a medical appointment. Nothing out of the ordinary in usual times and medically, it wasn’t out of the ordinary. But socially it was. I hadn’t seen anyone outside my family or my colleagues on zoom for months. While the practitioner prepped for the procedure, we made small talk. “Plans for the weekend?” he asked in the routine manner. The question struck me as funny. Melbourne has been under lockdown orders of varying degrees since April. At the moment, we are under stay at home orders, which prohibit people to travel more than five kilometers from their homes (medical appointments are an exception). Kids are home learning, business are closed, everyone is on video calls…
“I’m off to Paris.” I said. We chuckled about the absurdity of that and the banal reality of what we might really do. He expected the highlight of his weekend would be taking his kids to a playground which had reopened for the first time in two months.
After my appointment I sat in my car for a few minutes, savoring being alone for a few moments before driving home, and jumping on a work call. My mind wandered back to Paris. It had been an offhand remark, a joke, but now my imagination latched onto it. Maybe I will go to Paris this weekend it started… Obviously my body is locked down in Melbourne, but there is nothing keeping my mind here, it continued.
I imagine stepping onto the Rue Greffulhe in the ninth, where we stayed in January 2019. At the end of the street I could turn right to the bakery or walk straight ahead to the shop that seemed to have a small, perfectly packaged version of anything you may be lacking in your perfect little kitchen. The fruit was so beautifully packaged and displayed, I took a picture.
When I was studying psychology, I read about a woman who had been imprisoned for years, much of it in solitary confinement. She survived those times by visiting the cities she knew and walking every street. She said did this to occupy her mind and maintain her fragile grip on sanity. I have a very good sense of direction and often travel around places I’ve lived in my mind. When I read her story, I immediately identified with what she had done. I could see myself doing the same thing in her situation.
I’m certainly not in her situation, but my mind wants to go much further than my body can right now. I want to travel the 12 kilometers to see a good friend I’m missing, 15 to the ocean, 230 to the mountain range we visit every September. Beyond that, there are so many places I haven’t been in Australia: the Kimberly, the Daintree, Uluru, coastal northern New South Wales. Then there is the international bucket list: Japan, Iceland, sailing the Northwest Passage, sailing from Croatia to Venice, dog sledding in the Arctic…
But for now I’m content to wander the streets of Paris this weekend. If I’m feeling adventurous I might board a night train from Paris to Berlin, which no longer exists. There I could wander around my old neighborhood, visiting my favorite places. I just might; nothing can stop me.
When I began this blog, not so long ago, my intention was to write about adventure. I thought about what should define adventure. I thought about all different sorts of adventure – exploration expeditions, solo journeys on land, sea and air. I thought about adventures of the mind and soul. I thought about the arts and entrepreneurship. I thought about all of these different journeys and what united them and how they were different than the journeys people take when they have no other choice – when they must flee a situation that will destroy them in some way. The difference for me is the choice.
Now here we all are on what I’ll call a journey rather than an adventure. One of the interesting things about it, is that the whole world is experiencing the same thing at the same time. This has never happened. Even during world wars, some countries, where the wars are being fought, are much more impacted than those only contributing the war effort. Now, in every country in the world, every person living at this moment is experiencing uncertainty, fear, and loss to varying degrees.
We don’t know where this journey is taking us individually and collectively. I started picturing what this looks like. I imagine a large group of people in a clearing getting ready to go on a long distance hike together. Some have arrived with packs and hiking boots. They are well equipped and can indulge in the luxury of curiosity. Others are woefully unprepared. They’ve come in worn out sneakers, carrying a few supplies in plastic shopping bags. Some people are busily organizing what is needed for those who don’t have the right equipment. Others are checking maps and compasses trying to plan a route into unknown territory. There are a few people who have plenty of supplies, but are hoarding all the cliff bars. Some are ready to set off and see where the trail takes them others would like to return home to their couch and Netflix as quickly as possible.
I have no idea where we are headed as we set off from the clearing, but I have a sense of the kind of journey it will be. People will be pushed. They will be cold, tired, hungry and rain soaked, navigating an unknown slippery trail in the middle of the night… in moments like this we will see who they are, who we are. On journeys like this we get to see people’s true nature. Their grit, kindness, strength or lack of these things..
This is what it feels like to me at the moment. We are headed into the wilderness. Together.
One thing adventure allows us to do is turn off the noise and really listen.
I feel more alive on adventures. Why? Well, maybe it’s because the minutiae of the everyday fades into the background for a moment and I can focus on one thing. If the adventure is a physical one like climbing a rock face, I am singularly focused on my next hold and nothing else. If it’s a traveling adventure, I am away from home and all of the everyday responsibilities. Maybe I feel more alive because I have more time just to be when I’m not managing my life and that of my family.
I get back in touch with myself. I’m not sure how or why this happens. Is it that we return to our child-self? Are we more like we were then because that’s how we used to go through the world – less encumbered by the emotional labour adults are engaged in? As a child, I remember asking my mother from the back seat of our car one day what she was thinking about. She said she was thinking about what to make for dinner. I thought to myself, “Adults think about such boring stuff!” I was right. Maybe when that falls away on a trip or even just the quiet of a morning swim, the more interesting thoughts have a chance to rise to the surface.
Perhaps adventure can be a form of active meditation we use to quiet the nose and listen to what’s important.
This is what it feels like at times on every adventure. I know where I am and where I want to go, but I can’t see the path connecting the two! At the moment, this is how starting out to build a business feels. I need to tap into my adventurous spirit and grit on a regular basis to keep myself going. What are you doing in your life that looks like this?
It sounds so inevitable. For flowers, and for some rare people, perhaps it is. For me, and I suspect the vast majority, staying in the bud is what’s inevitable. The bud is so much safer than the peril of blossoming – being exposed takes so much work.
I see plenty of people around me who will never leave the bud. One of colleagues is turning 60 next month. He is a lovely, gentle man with a wry sense of humor. Over the past two years I’ve shared an office with him. I’ve come to understand what he loves. He loves rare wines, good food, music and detective novels. He has a deep attachment to Italy where his father was born. But all of these things only make fleeting appearances in his life, they are not what his life is about. He’s not living in Italy on a vineyard where he longs to be. He is lives in Melbourne, working in a public servant job he is increasingly annoyed by during the day buying an occasional bottle of rare wine he’ll drink a glass of on the weekend. He is living a small version of his life. It’s like he is sitting on a bus looking longingly out the window at the person he knows he should be – as the bus drives away.
My colleague inspires me. I look at him and know that if I don’t take the risks I need to the live the life I want to, I’ll be deeply sad, trapped in a small life. It becomes crystal clear that the risk to remain tight in the bud is more painful than the risk it takes to blossom.
As you head into this weekend, think about where you really are in your life. Not all the boxes you’ve ticked, but where you truly are. This poem by Oriah Mountain Dreamer might get your thoughts going in the right direction.
It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart’s longing.
It doesn’t interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love for your dream for the adventure of being alive.
It doesn’t interest me what planets are squaring your moon… I want to know if you have touched the centre of your own sorrow if you have been opened by life’s betrayals or have become shrivelled and closed from fear of further pain.
I want to know if you can sit with pain mine or your own without moving to hide it or fade it or fix it.
I want to know if you can be with joy mine or your own if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful to be realistic to remember the limitations of being human.
It doesn’t interest me if the story you are telling me is true. I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself. If you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul. If you can be faithless and therefore trustworthy.
I want to know if you can see Beauty even when it is not pretty every day. And if you can source your own life from its presence.
I want to know if you can live with failure yours and mine and still stand at the edge of the lake and shout to the silver of the full moon, “Yes.”
It doesn’t interest me to know where you live or how much money you have. I want to know if you can get up after the night of grief and despair weary and bruised to the bone and do what needs to be done to feed the children.
It doesn’t interest me who you know or how you came to be here. I want to know if you will stand in the centre of the fire with me and not shrink back.
It doesn’t interest me where or what or with whom you have studied. I want to know what sustains you from the inside when all else falls away.
I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.
Today was a low adventure day. Woke up and felt I had my head in the clouds. Went to my normal office job, which is ho hum.
How do we navigate the low adventure days? Today, I just got through, but what I should have done, is taken maybe 20 minutes to find some time to write in my journal and remind myself about all the adventures that are out there waiting for me – to keep it current in my mind and keep my energy heading in that direction.
Today was more about buckling down, getting the day job done and then coming home to the side hustle. Yes, the side hustle; my get away car. I am putting all of my spare moments into creating a business that I will use to free myself and my family of the geographical and time restrictions we currently have. It’s not that I don’t want to work hard. I quite like it if it is something I enjoy. I just want to be able to do it on my own terms.
So today’s adventure was an internal one – mustering the energy and the determination to stick with getting the side hustle off the ground. At the moment I’ve hit a low point. I’m frustrated and feel like I’ll never get there. But this is where the adventurous spirit comes in. Adventure isn’t just about thrill seeking and joy riding. There is a good measure of perseverance in every adventure. Right now I’m focusing on putting one foot in front of the other, like the time I climbed Cotopaxi and felt the effects of altitude like led in my legs. I got there in the end, but that’s a story for another time…
Hello dear reader! Welcome to my new blog about adventures of all shapes and sizes. Understood in broad terms, adventure is one of the most central concepts of my life. Of course, I love a good ol’ fashioned adventure – taking off in the unknown with the certainty that I will be surprised, challenged and most importantly learning about myself and the great wide world.
My current life doesn’t afford me the large blocks of time I had in my twenties to go on adventures. Now that I’m raising a family, having a career and running a household, I’ve come to appreciate all manner of adventure: adventures with kids and family, adventures of the heart, intellectual adventures and even the pedestrian adventures that are possible in the mundane every day life. I’ve found there is almost always opportunity for adventure if I look.
The purpose of this blog is to create a space for a community of people who are seeking adventure in their lives and making them happen. People just like you.