Help Me Choose My Next Adventure and Someone Might Pay for It

"Oh crap." — Me about to rappel over the side of a cliff

One time, at band camp, I heard this guy who went by the name of T. Alva Edison mouthing off while he was drinking whiskey out the bottle down by the swimming hole, and his diatribe went something like this:

"Restlessness is discontent, and discontent is the first necessity of progress. Show me a thoroughly satisfied man and I will show you a failure." 

I'm never satisfied, so I must be very successful! Let's face it, though: Restlessness in our society has gotten a bum rap. Kids who have it are often automatically labeled as ADHD; adults who exhibit it risk being labeled immature, unfocused, flakey, or worse. 

I think the problem isn't the restlessness itself, but rather the resistance to indulging it. That internal agitation we all have in varying degrees keeps building up until Something Bad Happens. It needs to be released, if not by a full-on opening of the dam, then by slow twists of the valve to blow off the steam, vapor by vapor.

I didn't leave New York State until I was 18 (unless you count New Jersey, which I don't — the tristate turn of mind is a tenacious one). Instead, I relied on my local library to top off my endlessly steeping pot 'o curiosity. I read about expeditions to Egypt and Greece, treks up Mount Everest, the adventures of Ernest Shackleton, anything that involved cannibals. I went places in my mind. It's not as scary as it sounds. It was pretty nice.

When I started working after college and had some limited discretionary income and wielded free reign over my own comings-and-goings, I went places outside of my mind. I traveled a little bit; I did some things. I started to feel myself taking form somehow. The soft spot for abandoning my comfort zone grew as a remedy for dealing with life's stressors and as a way to, as cheesy as it sounds, "find myself." I suspect most people can think much better about things, and about themselves, when they're floating downriver in a whitewater raft than when they're jostling for a spot on the subway or helping their kids with homework.

A study recently published in the journal Science seems to support this, showing that exploring and adventuring shapes us as individuals. A couple of Swedes commenting on the study, as Swedes are wont to do, explained, "Living our lives makes us who we are."  

Time, lack of money I could spend without feeling incredibly guilty, and the reluctance to insert too much space between myself and my children have kept my risk-taking and wanderlust in check, so I have to get creative in occasionally giving in to my hankering for the unexpected. My daughter's middle name is Adventure (a vicarious allowance, for sure), which she didn't give a shit about when she was, say, an infant, but which now fills her 6-year-old brain with insane 6-year-old delight. I fantasize about reformatting my resume in a "Choose Your Own Adventure" format and posting it on LinkedIn: "If you decide to hire Jenn, go to page 88 and reap the rewards. If you don't hire Jenn ... NOW YOU DIE!!!" 

I also try to shoehorn mini-adventures into the routine when I can. Three years ago, I ran the Warrior Dash in upstate New York, which prompted the start of this blog and the Warrior Hauswife handle. Here's a picture of me happy as a pig in some kind of artificially produced muck. Can't you tell by my expression that I'm learning about myself?

The following year I tried to blog my way to the North Pole in a Quark Expeditions contest. I vied for a free trip to 90N by writing an essay about why I thought I was the perfect candidate to zip around in a Zodiac as the tour company's resident blogger, then shilling myself for votes. I'm not sure what kind of shot I really had competing against, among others, a professional travel photographer and a popular Chicago meteorologist named Amy Freeze, but sometimes I get overconfident that way. I did come in 22nd out of 271 official entries — not too shabby.

I'm still in search of further far-flung high jinks. I'll be participating in the Tri-State NY Spartan Race next week: How could I turn down free beer, high-pressure water to the gut, and "awesome stories to tell," which I will probably tell in next week's blog post? I'm also investigating a trip to Machu Picchu this summer with the same travel companion I roped into attending "adventure camp" in Maine and dragging around my hastily-thrown-together "capitals of Europe" tour. 

Both Peru and the continuation of my mud-life crisis fall neatly into the "Realistic Adventures Most People, Including Jenn, Can Handle" category. I've contemplated throwing my hat in the ring for a one-way ticket to the Red Planet as part of the Mars One expedition, but I'm thinking that one isn't as viable.

Then there's this "Outside Adventure" grant, which falls somewhere in the middle of the spectrum and basically translates to Outside magazine giving me $10,000 if I can convince the judge's panel that I have the most ambitious, creative, and feasible adventure plan. Last year's winner paddled a sea kayak from Minnesota to Florida, so I've got to come up with something good.

Right now my proposal centers on a crawl through the mud on Mars, so I've got to brainstorm for more ideas. I'm open to suggestions, but hurry up — there's only a week left. I'll entertain pretty much anything (and send you a postcard if your idea wins me the grand prize!), as long as you entertain the idea of giving in to your restlessness this summer and creating an adventure of your very own, even if it's close to home. Pinky-promise?

If you want more of me on Twitter, @WarriorHauswife is where you should go.