Adventuring
(I so adore and respect this younger version of myself! What all she/me/we/I have survived and the ways we’ve grown are incredible.)
Do you take adventures for yourself?
Julia Cameron writes about, “Artist Dates” in her book, “The Artist’s Way”. That’s the concept I take for adventuring. Removing myself from the usual to do something remarkable – just for me.
“I have learned, as a rule of thumb, never to ask whether you can do something. Say instead, that you are doing it. Then fasten your seatbelt. The most remarkable things follow” – Julia Cameron.
My spirit requires “adventure dates”. That’s one of the things I learned about me on my 4-month Groovy Grand Adventure with Sparky anyways.
I feel deeply with all my senses when I adventure.
I’d told myself I was going, I’d written in my day planner even, so yesterday I took the hour drive up Highway 180 to see the Sequoias in Kings Canyon National Park.
The Sierra greet me every morning – right off my front porch – Right there! The sun rises off them and most days I don’t even take the time to look. Sad truth. But I was bound and determined to not just notice them – I wanted to feel them wholly. Holy.
I’d left later than I intended to – but that was partly due to unexpected and always welcome sprinkles from a rogue cloud that couldn’t be ignored. The audacious cloud dropped sprinkle-splashes right into my coffee! That’s because when I heard the sound on the metal porch roof I sprinted out to feel the rain.
I couldn’t have been more tickled happy.
And then I got a call from my housemate with a potential distraction – but I chose to keep my date with myself – which is out of precedence for me. Usually, the previous me would have rushed to aid him at the VA but I chose instead to let him be cared for just fine – without me. He’d even given me permission to go on with my trip up to the park – not that I needed his permission. I think it surprised him too when I didn’t rush to his side.
The sequoias called. I needed to keep my adventure date. For my own sake!
(He lived. He’s fine.)
Sparky and I chugged up the hill and watched as the mass exodus from Labor Day weekenders headed back the other direction, bumper-to-bumper to their “real worlds”. Hopefully that would leave the park mostly free to roam.
I went to the ranger’s area, got directions and snapped a picture of the map as they were all out.
I drove the short distance to the turnoff and headed down to the parking lot, passing a few of the giants along the way and got the last parking spot in the lot. When I got to the trailhead I remembered to text a friend and let them know my hiking area – so they could be my “virtual hiking buddy” – for safety.
Maybe it was a bit of excited bragging too.
What can I say – I felt happy-giddy.
In 6 ½ hours and nearly that many miles (I take loads of photos and I’m not in
my best shape and it is over a mile in elevation and I sat in commune with the
trees…meh – no rushing an adventure is there?) I only encountered 7 people. And
for over half the hike it was just myself, the trees, other plants, animals I mostly
couldn’t see and Mother Nature grooving.
Me, all alone in the big woods.
In my recent 4-month adventure, when I was traveling the southern half of the states, many people would ask me if I was afraid to travel on my own. No – not really. I’ve let fear hold me back from so much over the decades – and now that I’m at the invisible age where I have to color my hair purple to be seen, there’s very little to fear. Just me.
I fear I’ve spent my life erasing myself.
I grew up traveling the USA, mostly the southern states, every summer with my grandparents. Traveling and camping in the Airstream was what I lived the other nine months of the year for.
At 16, when I turned away from those summer adventures to be
normal and do the expected things in life, I lost me. The girl who danced badly
on the beach charged with a summer storm, never quite forgave me. So here I am
adventuring in self-forgiveness and with each step I find more of me.
Trekking up the trail and hugging the trees I chanted and sang, “Into the
forest I go to lose my mind and find my soul” – John Muir – Who also happens to
be key on why there is a national park right off my front porch.
True fact!
Well maybe John Muir didn’t have me, or my front porch in mind when he strove to save these giants and helped create the park – yet there it is.
I’m not nearly as eloquent as he is in the persuasion of adventuring, and there might not be a national park practically off your front porch, but I’m certain you too have adventures lurking… ones you maybe try to blot out but absolutely yearn for. Do you remember?
So? Do you take yourself on adventures?
What type of coaxing would it take to pry you from the typical mundane or the demands to do and be for others?
What sparks your groovy?
Adventures don’t require National Park stature. Going to a local park, museum, walking around the neighborhood, riding the bus and getting off at a different place, a concert in the park… talking to a stranger, pulling out the paints and creating, going to the nursery and getting a tree to plant – any and all of these are adventures. Your imagination is full of great ones too!
Anything that makes you feel groovy and connected to your life is an adventure.
Set yourself a date (put it into your planner!) or treat yourself with a spur of the moment surprise date… Have scheduled and surprise yourself adventurous dates! Let one adventure lead you to the next…
“Life is either a daring adventure or nothing” Helen Keller.
Go forth and do something groovy – just for you – I double-dog-dare you!
Thank you for reading this older post – I hesitated including these and I flipped and flopped and overthought and then decided it would be worth including these as they may be useful to someone else on their own journey.
They not so elegantly document the messiness – and therein lies the beauty and purpose.
If you’d like to work with a life coach who’s walked some dark paths and also played with rainbows and fireflies please feel free to contact me here for availability and pricing.