Vulnerability scared me. It often still does. The precipice of self-revelation can and has felt like the moments in an airplane right before I jump out of it or walk out onto a biplane wing for some aerobatics. “Well. Here goes nothing.”
This adventure had been more than a year in the making. It felt surreal when it came time to buckle into our helicopter seats. We had high expectations, which were blown out of the water with the incredible reality. We. Kayaked. On. A. Glacier!
I don’t know about you, but most of my adventures have a soundtrack. Whether it’s blaring from my car speakers or filling my headphones, music prepares me for both exploration and adrenaline rushes. Like an athlete during pre-game warmups, I’ve got go-to songs. In case they might enhance your travels and hijinks, here are songs all but guaranteed to do the trick.
I regularly get asked how I got into adventuring, how I find such exciting experiences all over the planet. My go-to answer is that I’ve surrounded myself with adventurers. These people call out the adventure in me and invite me along on their bold and crazy journeys. They know my legs might tremble, that my stomach might be in my throat; yet they don’t let my fears keep me from missing out on incredible moments.
I usually leave the country when I want a grand adventure. I’m closing in on having all seven continents under my belt, and most of my travel to-do list remains across an ocean, the equator, or both. So, I was surprised to find one of the most incredible experiences of my life to be just over the U.S./Canadian border.
I regularly get asked how I find the unique places where I vacation. My trademark response: “Give me five hours and Google, and I can find a vacation you’ve never seen.”
Everybody has the Internet, though; and everybody has five hours. Here’s my process, in case you’re looking to break your status quo.
The irony of the situation was that I was asked to speak about what I’ve seen God do in odd or uncomfortable ways over the past few years of my life. Using Bob Goff’s book, Love Does, as a filter, I told my story of life change and the stories of sovereignty that affirmed my spiritual journey. I challenged the circle to respond to God’s promptings, even when they don’t understand the reason or efficacy of that obedience.
We summited one peak in cold, blowing rain; and I said to one of my teammates, “I don’t know if there’s something broken in me, but I love this!”
It’s been a tension—not wanting to set my expectations too high but interrupting my days with daydreams (and Google searches), having such a huge motivation but not flaunt the prize in others’ faces. If you’re reading about it here, it’s because you want to join me; and I’m grateful for your support.
It’s not numbness. I’ve just moved on—like I do on the highway after I pray for the family involved in the wreck I just passed. It was such work to “hold this trip loosely with open hands” that I barely felt it eventually leave my hands.
I love being in the sky. I’ve got an adventure résumé filled with aerial adrenaline rushes, including jumping out of planes. So, it’s a bit ironic that I get nervous on airplanes during turbulence. Sometimes, straight out scared. I use the free drink napkins to dry my hands on multiple flights per year.
What I knew is that I had a story. And, really, the chase of a story—along with some solitude for contemplation—was why I had traveled as far and as hard as I had. I smirked in acceptance. It was an altered mission accomplished.
In short, that’s why I keep trying new experiences both big and small—to increase my catalog of memories and keep my exploration muscle from atrophy. My tendency has been to focus more on my grand wish list than on the daily opportunities for joy. The more I take inventory of my life and what fills me up, I’ve noticed that a series of small moments can adequately span the gaps between the lines on my bucket list.
I’ve not run into Bob since that encounter. I’ve thought about writing him a letter. I’ve wanted to thank him for demonstrating humility—for being an example to me for the rest of my life. I’ve wanted to apologize for telling my story at the expense of his much better ones. My guess, though—from my short time with him—is that Bob wouldn’t have told unsolicited stories.
That’s what my Christmas “letter” did, too, even if retroactively. It added incentive where I shouldn’t have needed any. It gave me the chance to turn vacations and weekend explorations into a thematic ego trip. I became the writer you see in the credits of reality TV shows—not that I was lying or finding a story that wasn’t there but that I was intentionally guiding others’ perception of me through carefully edited snippets.
It’s funny how adrenaline and dopamine work.
Biologically, you get more of them—and with them, more of a rush—the more scared you are at the second you launch.
It’s the same with faith.
God seems to dole the reward for surrender with a greater sense of gratitude, peace, and accomplishment.
At the bottom of this plunge, Woody began to worry for me. He wondered if I had tried to follow him. He chided himself for taking off on his own—after warning us not to do it earlier in the trip. He imagined the worse—explaining my injury or even my demise to Crystal.
In the din of a bustling convention center, a wiry stranger walked up to me, leaned close to my shoulder, said one sentence, and then walked away. Before the gentleman even finished his deliberate sentence, I felt like he was sent to to deliver it to me.
Back at my hostel, folks asked where I’d been; and I told them.
Responses included, “They let you do that!?” and “How did you arrange that?”
“I asked.”
There are some big lessons in there for me—professional, relational, and spiritual ramifications that I’ve been processing since then. But on my first morning in Cape Town, I made the rest of the trip unnecessary. This would not be topped. This would be the story of the trip.
If I were to measure the adrenaline rushes of my life in terms of cost per hour of participation, negotiating the Garden Route proved far more affordable than bungy jumping, sky diving, hang gliding, etc. That said, I wouldn’t mind paying extravagantly for safer ways to get my hits of endorphins, dopamine, and norepinephrine.
So, while I didn’t really need to learn Walter’s primary lesson, it was the “two” of the movie’s “one-two” educational punch that hit me so hard that I got emotional in the theater.
We didn’t blow out any candles or eat any cake. Nobody sang the happy birthday song—let alone had to volunteer to start everybody singing it. Greg didn’t opened any gifts; and there wasn’t a stack of cards. I don’t think I saw any table cloths. Yet, as we walked back to the equipment sheds, Greg told me, “This may have been my best birthday ever.”
I’m flying, floating, then riding a bus to what’s rated as one of the most grueling hikes in North America—a rugged wilderness described by trail alumni on YouTube as a place where nobody escapes a battered body. In fact, the Canadian Coast Guard and Parks Canada medevacs or otherwise rescues up to nine people a week from this stretch of ground—when only 52 people per day are allowed to enter the trail.
When I tell people where I’m going, I get two general responses. The first: “That sounds awesome!” and more often: “Not me. Why would you do that?” For the crowd who fall in that second camp, let me walk you through the reasoning.
The Adjustment Bureau reminded me of a truth that I’ve found throughout my spiritual walk: the omniscient Chairman (of my worldview) had better plans for me than I had for myself.
“God left me here for a reason,” I inserted later into the indelible conversation.