It’s taken me a long time to think of myself as an adventurous person. This is probably because it’s taken some living to realize how easy it is to miss out on things, and the vast quantity of things that are possible to miss out on.
One evening in high school I was sitting on my bed, halfway through a calculus problem, when I was struck with a strange revelation… I had never eaten a hamburger. But that couldn’t be right… I searched my memory, trying to think up an instance that would make this untrue… but no. I had just become the only person I knew who had never eaten a hamburger. Now this may sound like a strange story to tell you, but here’s the thing—I liked being the only person I knew who had (or in this case, had not) done a particular something. And I liked knowing that I had been doing something different from general society… even without meaning to. About four years later I lost that distinction, realizing that there are better things to be distinguished for and lots of delicious hamburgers to be eaten, but as someone who had generally tried to follow the ‘rules’ this was an okay start.
At this point in my life, I feel like the trouble with adventures has shifted further from the question of whether I am capable of taking them on to focus more on the question of when exactly there’s even time for pursue them. My twenties are speeding by so fast it’s a wonder my hair isn’t permanently stuck out behind my head. Which is, essentially, what brings us here. If we don’t do it now, then when? And so we are leaving our jobs, storing away most of our material lives, and telling friends temporary goodbyes. We’ll take along only what we can carry, give up things like regular showers, nightly TV, and an in-home washing machine, relying on our strength and endurance (physically and, I think, mentally) to get us from Maine to Georgia. It’s an unbelievably exciting challenge and a dream emerging into reality. I hope you enjoy our story!