Adventure is Everything

I wrote this a couple days ago. A fraction of the fruits of much pondering....

Since I’ve been in Austria, travelling, climbing, teaching English; I’ve gotten the line a lot, “Your life sounds so exciting, adventurous.” But adventure isn’t everything.
I’m on month seven abroad; right around the time most of the others are really feeling good and comfortable, confident with the culture and their language skills, I’m starting to feel homesick. After days-weeks of dreary snowy weather (despite the fact that the calendar says it’s spring), the clouds finally rolled back for a few minutes today to expose the sun and the glorious snow covered mountains, the birds were singing, and I had tears in my eyes as I pictured all of your beautiful faces in my head and heart, knowing how far away you all are from me.
Yeah, I know, Dad and Mom just left of Friday. I should still be carried by the high of getting to see them, but somehow that is what has allowed these feelings to surface, made them suddenly so acute. That is the bitter sweetness of having visitors.
Allie was here in December. She is basically the friend that I’ve had for the longest, she understands me, I understand her in ways many others don’t. We could just be together and enjoy seeing those smiles and hearing the laughs we each know so well.
Kurtis came in February. We have many mutual friends, went to the same college, have both worked with YD Adventures for a while, and have many common interests and faith, but we only cross paths every once in a while and usually only for a short time. Despite or because of these factors we had a lot to talk about. We discussed, questioned, encouraged, shared stories in a way that I hadn’t gotten to with anyone for a while. It was a short but deeply meaningful slice of the community I miss so dearly from home.
I even got to cross paths with Jason and Thom from YDA for a few short days in Prague.
Dad and Mom were here in March. The loins that produced me, two of the people that I love most dearly but too frequently take for granted. Despite that fact that there are things that I don’t always share with them, they know me like no one else on earth does. And perhaps love me more unconditionally than anyone else on earth—I base this primarily on the fact that they have put up with me the longest—that really says something. Oh my dad’s big, long, man hugs, my mom’s jokes and smiles, the way she laughs at the little things I do—like my lizard face. How I love these things so dearly. I even sort of miss how she makes loud kissing noises in my ear, just to be silly.
I’m learning lots, enjoying lots, relaxing, and playing here in Austria. But I miss being known. I miss being understood. And I miss knowing and understanding the people around me. There is a certain beauty in the written word but frankly I’m tired of trying to express myself through a keyboard that doesn’t know what I want to say. I miss being able to have long solid conversations without using the technology of phones or the internet. Conversations that happen on long road trips in the depths of Canada, girl talk while piled on one of my roommate’s beds, discussions at Boundary Bay, laughter echoing from the side of some mountain, tears…anywhere--but shared with a friend.
I can’t complain my life is so good; I appreciate every day God has given me. But I am also learning more and more about myself and my passions. I love adventure—and it comes in so many shapes and sizes, some half way across the world, some in the challenge of a hard conversation in your own living room. Maybe I’m getting old fashioned, but I think I like the idea of, dare I say it, settling down. I would really like to live somewhere for a long while, have community, continuity. When I left Bellingham I knew that I was leaving a place that had very much become my home. I love new people and situations but I loved showing up at Mallard Ice Cream or some outdoor film, recognizing a bunch of faces and wander around chatting with them. I don’t mean get boring and lazy, what I want really is a base camp. It is the place you always come back to but you regularly venture off to try something new, be challenged. But you’ve got a cozy place to sleep, first aid, community, all waiting for you there when you get back (and usually you don’t leave for 9 months or more). By the way, base camp itself is pretty gorgeous too, rivers below, peaks all around.
I am perhaps idealizing things back home. It wasn’t perfect before, I was way more stressed out with school, work, and always busy, not much money. But at least I had friends to share it with. I think there is so much adventure and challenge in being somewhere for a long time, in knowing people more deeply. It requires more commitment, more sacrifice, more patience. You can’t just say,”Oh well, I’ll be gone in four months anyway.” The fact that you are sort of stuck with each other (voluntarily or not) makes you want to and have to work harder at being a community. But what a sweet adventure that is.
Adventure is in the simple things. I love going out and challenging myself on a rock face or in a long running race. My second summer at YDA Brie reminded me of the adventure in simple things; intense long laughter, skinny dipping, running around your city in the dark playing hide and seek or some other equally beautiful and innocent spur of the moment activity.
Adventure is in our heads. That is what makes some of those simple things such an adventure for some but a bore to others. Wrapping my mind around God is an adventure. The challenge and joy of living my life for God is an adventure. Listening to other peoples’ journeys is a great adventure as is learning, reading, watching, jumping in, staying out, questioning, walking, looking. A challenging adventure I’m having right now is learning that, “Being a Christian is more about celebrating mystery than conquering it.” (Rob Bell from the book Velvet Elvis). Trying to live frugally and generously at the same time is a great adventure. Other good adventures: trying to ease some suffering in this world, having purpose, understanding politics, learning to be wise but not worry, living today like there might not be a tomorrow, trying to express my appreciation and love for the people around me, getting out of my comfort zone socially, learning how to listen more and speak less, how to be more patient and not get angry.
There are so many adventures in this life if we would only see them as that. I’m talking to myself as much as I am to any of you. Adventure is everything, but our attitudes are what determine whether we classify things as adventures or not. So as I turn from my homesick lament to teetering on the edge of corny motivational speaker, I must ask myself, “How will I let my homesickness be an adventure and not purely a sorrow or dread?” Adventure is not everything unless you can make everything into an adventure. So maybe the next adventure is figuring out how to make everything an adventure.
“The sole cause of man’s unhappiness is that he does not know how to stay quietly in his room.” –Pascal
“Whoever finds his life will lose it, and whoever loses his life for my sake will find it.” –Matthew 10:39
“An adventure is an inconvenience rightly deserved.” –G. K. Chesterton
“The pleasure we derive from journeys is perhaps dependent more on the mindset with which we travel than on the destination we travel to. If only we could apply a travelling mindset to our own locals, we might find these places becoming no less interesting than the high mountain passes and butterfly-filled jungles.” –Alain De Botton from The Art of Travel
We live today in a world of growing isolation, frantic activity, and desperate violence, where paradoxically, we find ourselves longing for both solitude and companionship, intimacy and community. Some of us may look back to times when life seemed to make sense and relationships were more certain. Whether or not such times ever existed, we nevertheless long today for relationships that acknowledge who we are and who we want to be. We want someone to hear us, to hear our hearts beating, to hear our deepest longings—even longings of which we dare not speak. - Sondra Higgins Matthaei Faith Matters