According to Merriam-Webster dictionary, adventure is defined as the following:
1 a : an undertaking usually involving danger and unknown risks b : the encountering of risks
2 : an exciting or remarkable experience adventure in exotic dining
Danger. Risk. Exciting. Remarkable.
Waking up before my body was ready to, I made my way to the kitchen feeling my eyelids turn to lead at the bright sun. Of course, it only lasted a few minutes before the grey blanket of winter was thrown back onto our fair city. Thoughts of warmer climes - savoury, salty air, vibrant colours that leave marks on your mind and the heat of the sun tightly wrapping his long, tangly arms around every inch of your body. These memories and fantasies quickly began reshaping themselves and forming into bubbles of thought about adventure and what it really means to me.
Declarations of moving and traveling whilst carrying a handkerchief filled with dishrags on a broomstick over my shoulder are some of the clearest childhood memories I have. The days when I would sit at the window watching for my dad's truck to come around the corner from a long journey home from the north, I would daydream about what kind of adventures were waiting for me when I grew up. Being a child of immigrant parents left a mark on me that perhaps was unintentional but deep nonetheless. My parents were adventurers of a different kind but in my young mind, they were bold and courageous and I wanted to feel what that felt like. The difference being that they left out of necessity and I leave out of sheer desire and longing to feed my gypsy soul.
It seems that all my memories of being three or four years old are spun around the desire to be a traveler. To be a woman of the world. I've always known that I wanted to move, to feel desire and to be desired, to understand languages, to see rare birds and creatures of the sea. I saw my mother as being exotic and I wanted to be that too. But how could I achieve such exoticism by staying put in my cookie cutter city? I knew then that this city was not colourful enough for my creative eye and my traveling heart.
But here I am, in this place I so desperately wanted to leave behind. As I was washing my dishes yesterday in my pint-size kitchen I imagined myself growing old here and I didn't go into convulsions. I didn't feel scared or panicked or unhappy with this thought. There is still, perhaps always, a part of me that believes this isn't my final destination, my garden to plant my roots in but I am happy to be here. Happy to be here as I cross the threshold into another decade, the best one yet and it's only just begun. I am content to spend my days slowly making art (I always feel I am not doing enough, making enough, being productive enough, but I am working on that too) and sacrificing my nights and a healthy lifestyle to pay the bills, pay off students loans and save for the next grand adventure. This works for now.
I recognize that my current state is not ideal, not for me or most people but it works and it is a part of the adventure that I have chosen. It is one piece of the whole and every choice I've made to this point, good or not so good, has led me here. I have been choosing a different kind of adventure since I could think for myself. I've always been lost in my own thoughts and daydreams about what will come and now I'm living it. I try to think less about what was and what might be and more about what I'm doing in the moment. Right now I live in my hometown that I've grown to love, in a small, plumbing-challenged apartment with my adorable kitten, working nights in a place that continues to blow my introverted mind so that I can jump into my next great adventure, only months away from becoming my reality.
Waking up before my body was ready to, I made my way to the kitchen feeling my eyelids turn to lead at the bright sun. Of course, it only lasted a few minutes before the grey blanket of winter was thrown back onto our fair city. Thoughts of warmer climes - savoury, salty air, vibrant colours that leave marks on your mind and the heat of the sun tightly wrapping his long, tangly arms around every inch of your body. These memories and fantasies quickly began reshaping themselves and forming into bubbles of thought about adventure and what it really means to me.
Declarations of moving and traveling whilst carrying a handkerchief filled with dishrags on a broomstick over my shoulder are some of the clearest childhood memories I have. The days when I would sit at the window watching for my dad's truck to come around the corner from a long journey home from the north, I would daydream about what kind of adventures were waiting for me when I grew up. Being a child of immigrant parents left a mark on me that perhaps was unintentional but deep nonetheless. My parents were adventurers of a different kind but in my young mind, they were bold and courageous and I wanted to feel what that felt like. The difference being that they left out of necessity and I leave out of sheer desire and longing to feed my gypsy soul.
It seems that all my memories of being three or four years old are spun around the desire to be a traveler. To be a woman of the world. I've always known that I wanted to move, to feel desire and to be desired, to understand languages, to see rare birds and creatures of the sea. I saw my mother as being exotic and I wanted to be that too. But how could I achieve such exoticism by staying put in my cookie cutter city? I knew then that this city was not colourful enough for my creative eye and my traveling heart.
But here I am, in this place I so desperately wanted to leave behind. As I was washing my dishes yesterday in my pint-size kitchen I imagined myself growing old here and I didn't go into convulsions. I didn't feel scared or panicked or unhappy with this thought. There is still, perhaps always, a part of me that believes this isn't my final destination, my garden to plant my roots in but I am happy to be here. Happy to be here as I cross the threshold into another decade, the best one yet and it's only just begun. I am content to spend my days slowly making art (I always feel I am not doing enough, making enough, being productive enough, but I am working on that too) and sacrificing my nights and a healthy lifestyle to pay the bills, pay off students loans and save for the next grand adventure. This works for now.
I recognize that my current state is not ideal, not for me or most people but it works and it is a part of the adventure that I have chosen. It is one piece of the whole and every choice I've made to this point, good or not so good, has led me here. I have been choosing a different kind of adventure since I could think for myself. I've always been lost in my own thoughts and daydreams about what will come and now I'm living it. I try to think less about what was and what might be and more about what I'm doing in the moment. Right now I live in my hometown that I've grown to love, in a small, plumbing-challenged apartment with my adorable kitten, working nights in a place that continues to blow my introverted mind so that I can jump into my next great adventure, only months away from becoming my reality.
Danger. Risk. Exciting. Remarkable. I feel my life to be just that. Perhaps not so dangerous on most occasions but my life feels exciting even when it is the most mundane. If I listen to my heart, go with my gut and trust my intuition, I am usually happy with the results. I've got a lot to work on, a lot to get better at and even more to adjust but I am doing just that. It is a part of this adventure. There is something just as dangerous, risky, exciting and remarkable about seeing real changes in ourselves as there is in getting off a plane in country that is considered the kidnapping centre of the world (which I will get to in the next year). We have choices and I choose to create my own path and to define my own adventure.
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