In 2002 when I was 21, I landed in Dublin, Ireland. The hotel I’d booked for the night wasn’t ready for me to check in so I waited in the sun on a wooden park bench nearby, heavy pack slumped at my side, eating salty potato chips. Or “crisps” as they’re referred to over there.
A friendly black lab wandered over and I gave it a chip and a scratch behind its warm velvety ear, “You’re the first one I’ve met here,” I said. When the owner appeared, my only friend in all of Ireland lifted a leg and peed on a garbage bin, then trotted off.
So no, the upcoming adventure isn’t the first time I’ve completely changed the scenery of my life.
There’s actually a goal this time though, centering on ways I’d like to challenge and get to know myself more. I think subconsciously I somewhat resemble those gym rats who only work on the top half. They strut around on spindly seagull legs with arms so huge they hang inches away from the torso, Mr. Big and Tall clothing their upper region, items from the youth section at Target their lower. My “legs” in this scenario are accountability to myself. Growing and pushing in the areas I value; areas that inspire and make me feel whole. Getting to know the parts I’ve suppressed, repressed… I want to slip “leg pressed” into that sentence for the sake of the analogy, but don’t worry, I won’t. Needless to say, I think it’s time to work on my legs.
In Ireland I was a passenger. I didn’t internalize a lot of the experience, just went along for the ride. I chose easy ways to feel good in the moment. Besides getting a job, securing my visa and a place to live, I had no clear goals for what I wanted to accomplish. My main focus was centered around immediate survival. The time I could have spent working on myself, you know, the hard work that would have inevitably led to overall growth and well-being (including but not limited to seeing the red flags of an ill-conceived relationship) were instead spent with friends in bars. It was Ireland, after all.
And maybe that’s part of your 20s. You need that time to clumsily shovel the silt, gather up life experiences. Collect it all in a bucket to sift through when you’re ready. And when you are, if you actually take the time to churn through it and reflect, perhaps you’ll discover gold.
Chad and I spent this New Year’s out in the snowy backcountry. We’d snowshoed over 3 miles with 1,000 feet of elevation gain to get to where we were. There was no one else around. We’d enjoyed a “Ramen Bomb” dinner, sitting shoulder to shoulder on a thin piece of foam passing the steaming bowl of a delicious mix of noodles, mashed potatoes, and chili Fritos back and forth. The temps dropped as the sun set, a breathtaking pastel pallet of pink, red, and yellow over the snow-covered silhouette of the Sierra Nevada’s. By the time the dark sky gave way to an explosion of glittering stars, the temps were in the low teens. While fighting the urge to stay outside (we’d planned to sleep under the stars) and also trying not to freeze, it dawned on me: my life has been somewhat of an interesting paradox between survival and wonder. The crux of it has been trying to find balance between the two. I think I’ve spent too much time on one side of the equation, the practical “safe” side. And while there’s nothing wrong with that, I’m excited to shift and recalibrate. It’s important to seek an equilibrium; make room for moments of awe, presence, and peace.
We reluctantly left our spot and snowshoed through the dark to the nearby cabin as sensation started to leave my toes. But the magic of being there, of working hard, enduring mild discomfort, and trusting our instincts is such an awakening. A way of connecting and reigniting awareness to oneself, a partner, and everything that surrounds you.
I am looking forward to many more moments like this.
TRAVEL & ADVENTURE 