Close your eyes for a second. What comes to mind when you think of the word, adventure? Do you think of thrill? Do you take a risk?
Since 4 years it's been my dream to take a 2-week backpacking trip, not stopping for more than 2 nights at each place I was visiting. To me, adventure was thrill. When I was 22 I booked tickets for a concert in a city I'd never been to, whose language I didn't speak, and thought, "Wouldn't it be CRAZY if I DIDN'T book a hotel for the night?!". I wanted to explore the streets of Amsterdam at night, people-watch, and have a Before-Sunrise-esque encounter with a person who would go on to be the subject of a confusing dream every few years. Instead I was met with drunk people who couldn't walk straight, puddles of puke, and every shopkeeper shouting at me because they thought I was also drunk (which, in hindsight, would have made the night more bearable). I ended up going to the airport and sleeping on the floor before heading back to the city where I took the train back home. I ran into many French people but none sober, let alone as articulate as Celine.
Now, when I think of adventure, I think of risk (Pablo covered all the bases in his prompt). I think of being brave and venturing into discomfort without knowing what to expect, or expecting anything, really. I moved countries twice and houses 4 times over the last 2 years, and every time I felt like I was taking a deep breath before jumping off a cliff. At the bottom I found connection, love and an increased tolerance for uncertainty. I still wanna take that 2-week trip, but after a long year, not to be cliche, life is the ultimate adventure.
This blog was written as a part of the IndieWebClub #24, with a prompt from the IndieWeb Carnival 2026 by Pablo Morales.