It began with the Sea Dragon, and then there was the Alpengeist, the Millennium Force, the Incredible Hulk. I fell in love with the feeling that rushes at you when everything is happening too fast to possibly have any control of it.
You might call that adventurous.
But in other ways, I was so unadventurous it's embarrassing to admit. Finishing high school, I thought little about college and basically only applied to the liberal arts school in my hometown. My mother had to practically shove me in the direction of the dorms, or I'd have lived at home to save money. It's not like I was exploring in other ways, like getting into trouble. And it's not that I was afraid. I was just content where I was, and hadn't thought a bit I might be missing anything.
I'm not sure what made me decide to study abroad. Embarrassingly, again, it was at least partly because my boyfriend decided to and it looked like fun. But looking back, I'm just glad something got me out the door.
I drove around the streets of my hometown before I left, thinking how sad it would be not to see them for 6 months. Ha! I forgot them entirely the moment I arrived, and lost myself in the streets (and trails, and pubs, and people) of Leeds. Everything was different, everything was new, and was changing too quickly to possibly feel in control of it. I clung to my sense of order for maybe a month before realizing it was futile, and consented to simply follow wherever it took me - a scary but heady resignation.
Still, I was embarrassingly afraid of adventure. I plotted a 4-week backpacking trip through Europe because the University kicked us out of the dorms for Spring Break, and spent the weekend before sobbing from fear of being homeless in a foreign country for a month. What if I got lost or ran out of money? What if I couldn't find a place to sleep for the night?
As it turns out, I did all of those things. I lived for a month from what fit in a bag. I got lost, missed trains, had no pillow or any clue what people were saying or what the signs meant. I went to the Alps without a coat; I drank too much wine and got in trouble with the Hungarian police; I'm pretty sure I got bedbugs in Prague. I showed up in cities with no idea where I'd sleep, and returned home broke and smelly. I also returned home knowing that no matter what happened, everything would pretty much always be all right.
It's not that I was a different person, but that life was different for me after that. The trip unlocked a part of myself I hadn't known existed (and had previously been tapped only by roller coasters). It unlocked a thrill in exploring the unknown by teaching me the unknown's something I can take on. Probably not coincidentally, shortly later I experienced a big loss, which comes to most people at some point or another. For the third time in a year, I was reminded that although we might feel like we hold the steering wheel to life, often it's life steering us, and sometimes living hurts a shit ton.
It took time (as it tends to do) but I recovered, and when I did, I knew again in a deeper way that no matter what happened, everything would be okay. But REALLY. No matter what. Anything. Okay. And to be honest, since then there isn't anything that really scares me much. I can move across the country alone, jump out of planes, dive deeply, fly down the highway with the throttle open, defend a dissertation, and soon, let bad-ass ladies knock the shit out of me with wheels are strapped to my feet. Whatever.
More importantly, I'd like to hope that fearlessness frees me up to love more radically than I did before. When you realize how little you need to be fine, you're free to give without fear of running out. When you know how little control you can have, how hurt you can be and still get back up, being in charge and dodging blows matters less, while your reserves for giving to someone who needs it grow bigger. Once you come to know what you're capable of, nothing can ever take that from you... and the illusion of being Boss of Life is something you don't want back anyway.
