Tonight on the treadmill, the absolute opposite of adventure, I started thinking about this topic and what about it makes me grateful. I love a good adventure, but what I love more is the spirit behind adventure. Sure, backpacking in the wilds can be an adventure to some and a slog for others. Maybe throwing oneself down the side of a mountain with boards attached to the feet is one person’s idea of great adventure and for another abject terror. So are some folks cut off from adventure because they don’t do some of these things? I don’t think so. I think adventure stems from a spirit. Then what is an adventurous spirit? I posit it’s one that embarks on something, often times new, with no predetermination or sense of control of the outcome, an openness to serendipity, if you will.
I wasn’t a skier, Bryan didn’t bask in the thrill of an empty canvas before him, but somehow we managed to find adventure together, sometimes on a walk to Pioneer Park, or at the grocery store, or on a wild and woolly hike with our kiddo. Adventure comes in all shapes, sizes, and levels of risk versus reward, and yet, there’s a common theme–relinquishing the outcome of what MUST be to one of what MIGHT be or better yet a giant question mark of WHO KNOWS what will be.
Feryl Files 
I think I don’t have much of an adventure gene – or if I did I lost it as I got older. For example, I was talking with someone the other day about trying to felt one of my crochet projects. It didn’t work out well and I decided that putting all that effort into a crochet piece only to ruin it while trying to felt it annoyed me. That’s a silly attitude – you just keep trying until you get it right doofus!
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