I need to make a confession: until yesterday I do not think I really understood the word ‘adventure’. It’s quite embarrassing really. I call myself an Adventure Advocate. I produce a podcast called Seize Your Adventure. I ask all of my guests what ‘adventure’ means to them. And yet, when people ask me what adventure is, and more importantly how to have one, I could not quite get the explanation right.

You see, the word ‘adventure’ is like the word ‘love’. It is a poor signifier of a feeling that is difficult to explain. I have heard it described by multiple people in similar but differing ways. “Adventure is a mindset… it makes you feel all the emotions… it feeds your soul…it’s uncomfortable but worth it”. None of these description are wrong. If you know adventure, you know exactly what they mean. But how do you describe adventure to those who do not have it? How do you advocate for something so intangible?

The first time I remember feeling adventure, I was seven years old. My family went on the first of many holidays to Snowdonia. We drove across the country from our home in the South. My mum and dad would share the long drive and my older sister and me would sit in the back with our rescue dog between us. The day of travelling was filled with cassette tapes and car games, and the landscapes outside the car windows became increasingly unknown. It was a holiday in Britain - my own country - and yet we crossed over a border that bought a new language into my life for the first time.  I remember us giggling at the Welsh word ARAF, teasing the dog with the bark-like word for SLOW.  We walked into slate mines and rode trains along the coast. The day we walked up Snowdon, we stepped into the cloud and I never reached the top because I was too scared of the wind and rain. It was the epitome of a family adventure holiday. 

Since then, I have felt adventure many times: when I’ve stood on glaciers; when I’ve navigated Spanish streets; when I’ve pushed my body to keep walking in the hope of a bed. Yesterday, I felt adventure again. It might not have looked like much from the outside. It was a simple walk through the parks and commons near my house. There was no terrifying weather. I was not walking across a foreign country. I came home for lunch. So what made it adventurous?

It was the fact that I put myself into a situation that invited the unexpected. I did not plan my path (I rarely do) but instead took tangents where I felt like it (the confines of the common kept me safe!). I stopped to watch a robin trilling his song on top of a post. I was surprised by the spider that had taken a seat on my water bottle. I giggled at the charcoal burner that had the name ‘Norman’ embossed on the side and wondered if all charcoal burners have names. And best of all, I found myself far enough away from the bank holiday crowds that I surprised a doe on my path and had a frozen moment of mutual acknowledgement before she bounded off into the bushes. 

As I enjoyed this feeling of adventure just miles from my own home, I thought about how to capture the feeling and explain to others how they can find it themselves. And the easiest suggestion I have to is take yourself away from human-made comfort and out into uncontrollable nature. When you do that, you put yourself in situations where the unexpected will occur. You open yourself up to adventure.

And like love, you’ll know it when you find it.