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| Sailing with my dad in New Zealand last year. |
Finding a point of origin for the beginning of a love, or even hate, of something is usually an impossible task. Maybe my love for volleyball started in fifth grade because of my sister’s skill at the sport, or maybe my love of old cars became tangible when my dad brought me along to work with him on his 1969 mercury cougar. I will never know for sure, though, because love does not occur in one particular moment. It does not hit a person like a sudden strike of lightning or a slap to the face. As John Green wrote, falling in love sometimes happens “the way you fall asleep: slowly, and then all at once”, for the chances of the so-called “love at first sight” seem as uncommon as a tyrannosaurus rex in the modern day. I will however admit, that I believe there are certain cases where that kind of miraculous love does exist, but I am quite unsure if I have ever experienced it. If I have, it is in some minuscule sense and more likely to have happened if the phrase was, instead, “love at first bite” with chocolate or pasta.
No, there is not one instant when I knew I loved singing or music. Not one millisecond when I began to adore nature and photography. Not one tick of the grandfather clock when I was aware I was whole-heartedly and absolutely in love with adventure and its best friend, adrenaline. On the other hand, I do believe if I could cheat and choose the time when the love for adventure started to show up “all at once” like Green mentions, I could pinpoint one year.
During the year of 2004, I experienced some of the best travels of my life. It seems I was outside of Georgia, more than I was in it at that age. That could be my tarnished memory speaking, but if it is I don’t mind. Because memories are what makes a certain time special, and if something was better in my head than it actually was at that moment, then I might as well just savor what my mind tells me.
It seems sailing was ingrained in me before I could stand with unbalanced legs or talk incomprehensibly. That is very much due to my father. Growing up in Charleston, South Carolina, he was constantly outside exploring. He loved the ocean and was in it as much as he could get away with. By the age of 8, he was navigating motor boats by himself. By 10, he could sail on his own in the bay. He loved sailing so much that he collected box tops from cigarette boxes of people he knew that smoked. He, then, mailed in the box tops along with fifty dollars he saved up from cutting grass in exchange for a fiberglass kit to make a sailboat. At the age of 12, he built the sailboat with his dad and began sailing it in the water by his home.
That sailboat had a better and longer life than many people. At one point, it was hit by a submarine on a foggy day. On another day, my dad and his friend got caught in a riptide and were stuck on an abandoned island for more than a few hours. The coast guard searched for the boys and the sailboat, but it ended up being two drunk men who found them. During that unexpected adventure, the boys explored the ruins of Castle Pinckney and the foundation of a long forgotten prison. They returned to their frightened mothers with an enormous shark tooth and a fossilized dinosaur bone they found, along with new memories and stories to later tell their children.
Ever since his childhood, my dad has loved no activity more than sailing. If he could, he would sell our house and all of our belongings to move in a sailboat and live on the water. So far that option has not been available, but my dad still finds a way to sail every few years to keep his wandering mind at ease. Those little sailing escapades were originally for him, but they have now become necessary for my restlessness as well. You see, I am very much my father’s daughter. Whenever my dad tells tales of his youth, I wish severely I could have been on his escapades with him. When he says he wants to drop everything to go sailing, I cheer him on and help pack the bags. When he talks about the things he loves, I find myself agreeing with everything on his list: martial arts, the ocean, traveling, and exploring nature.
The main difference between us is that over the years my love for adventure has surpassed his and any other person I have met. I find myself thinking of hiking in Australia, backpacking across Europe, and exploring the culture in Africa constantly. If I could pack a bag and travel a new place every day, I would never stop. If I had the opportunity to circumnavigate the world no matter how long it would take, I would halt everything for the chance.
All this desire for adventure, stems from my dad and only grew because of his need to feel the rock of a boat beneath his feet. The earliest I remember sailing was in 2004, at the age of 7. At such a young age, I don’t recall a lot of the journey in the Caribbean, but I still hold the important memories: the laughter that multiplied each day, the vibrant colors of the aquatic life while snorkeling, the sensation of being at the helm and directing the boat in any direction I wished. My favorite of all the feelings, however, was the rocking of the waves and the gust of the wind. Oh, the wind. The way it knotted my hair into an impossible mess. The way it eased the mind and created a sound that still felt like silence. With the wind shoving its way around me and the waves splashing at my ankles and rocking my stomach, I will always feel the closest to home.
The year of 2004 held more than that single heaven, however. The summer before, my family traveled to Europe. We started in France, and my family loved its spirit so much, we prolonged the stay. After Paris, we journeyed to Ireland. I remember the warmth of the people as if they were beside me now. I remember peering over the edge of the Cliffs of Moher and having no sense of fear, but only excitement from the view and the adrenaline. I remember sitting in a pub (at the age of 6) and hearing a single person begin to play his instrument. Once he started, person after person joined in. Some went home to retrieve their fiddle or guitar and some began to share the voices with all. In that moment, my family knew we were experiencing something special. We were part of the Irish culture in that song. We were laughing with the drunks and their families. We were laughing and we were smiling. And we were laughing some more. Just now my whole face has brightened from the thought of that night.
That was one of the happiest times of my life, and the other times where I have felt that much joy and that free is when I was in another unknown place with few known people. Times where little to me is familiar, are the most exciting times, for each occurrence is a lesson on a culture and each sight is a completely new view of the world. Ever since that year, the thought my mind always reverts back to is travel.
Sometimes, my wandering mind can become negative and keep me from enjoying where I am this very second, but over the years I have found new ways to have adventures no matter where I am stuck. You do not need to be across the country or in a place where your language is not spoken to calm an adventurous mind and just wander (although, that is obviously ideal).
What I mean to say is, there are ways to make everyday life more adventurous, and in my opinion, more enjoyable. Here’s an example. When I was young, I had an unusually difficult time going up to strangers and asking simple questions, such as “May I change my order from chicken tenders to a cheese burger with no onions or pickles?” or “I love your boots. Where did you get them?” I would lie to myself by acting like I really just did not care enough to get up from my seat to change my dinner order, but in actuality talking to strangers made me unnecessarily nervous. Several years later, like the sudden and unexpected sound of the radio blaring when a car engine is ignited, I realized that being bold in any type of situation is usually rewarding. Boldness comes in many different forms. It could be something as simple as talking to someone that you typically would not, lip syncing “Bohemian Rhapsody” followed by an intense rap in front of 1000 people, or even going against the nervousness in your mind and changing from a school with several friends and a miserable learning experience to a school with better teachers and classes and only new, unrecognizable faces (all things I have done and never regretted). No matter the situation, when one is bold about things they care about, the outcome is rarely disappointing.
Becoming less cowardly and more confident in myself has made my life so much more exciting. Most of the friends I have made in the last two years are from going against my fears and speaking up, and probably all of my favorite decisions in life happened because I decided to take a chance.
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| Just in case you didn't believe me about the lip syncing thing. |
I will say that I am relatively at an advantage to some, because I have always known very little fear. The fear I have had I typically had good control over, because I am a naturally level-headed person. That being said, overcoming fear in times that could lead to something great, is imperative to making the most out of any situation. All my life, I have always dreamed of the time I would be old enough to skydive. Like I previously mentioned, I love the feeling of wind, and falling through the air at high speeds would definitely ripple my clothes and envelope my body in rushing air. That feeling, accompanied with the drop of my stomach due to falling, sounds enormously fun to me. Sadly, I am still not old enough to sky dive, but while in New Zealand last year I was given the opportunity to bungy jump into a ravine. That familiar crawl of approaching fear appeared when adjusting my harness and hopping toward the end of a ledge above hundreds of empty space that ended with a rushing river. The fear attempted to invade my mind and remind me that jumping off a perfectly safe bridge was typically not a good idea. However, I killed that traitor feeling as quickly as it came knocking on my mind, because I knew that once I dove with nothing but a long stretchy cord to save me I would not only survive the jump, but I would immediately love the feeling of wind and falling and being reunited with my dear friend, Adventure. And I did. When I jumped, all I could do was smile. The only scream that came from my lips, was to yell to my parents, “This is amazing!”, and it truly was. In order to be adventurous, one must let go of fear, or at least continue on despite it.
Lastly, a way to become more adventurous is by constantly challenging yourself. This idea is very much like being bold, and is only possible if one forgets the aforementioned fear that comes along with unknown territory. All these ideas are very alike, because they are part of the foundation that makes up adventure. Challenging yourself is imperative to keeping a life interesting and constantly changing. One way to achieve this action is by simply say “yes” to more things. Saying yes to an invitation that sounds daunting, perhaps like going to an event with very few people you know, is often uncomfortable, but also a great chance to grow as a person. When I finally decided to start martial arts in a place with few women and no one I knew, I quickly noticed two things: 1. that I was very uncomfortable, and 2. that not always being perfectly comfortable forced me to meet new people, strike up intriguing (commonly hilarious) conversations, and become more okay with being alone or having to be the person that walks up first to someone new and says, “Hi, I don’t think we’ve met. My names Melanie, and yours?” Putting oneself in situations that challenge a person’s typical nature, forces one to adapt to new situations. That is very necessary if a person wishes to hike the Appalachian trail alone or go on a mission trip to China with not a soul they know. Pairing the ability to be bold, diminish unnecessary fears, and constantly challenging oneself will undoubtedly lead to a more adventurous life, whether across the globe or in your neighborhood.
Now, go! There's no better time for an adventure than right now.
