So I’ve taken the summer for granted. The long days spilling shadows across the front lawn, — all of those hours conglomerated into one huge smudge. And damn am I good at making excuses for not doing something new. “I don’t have money. And then there is summer classes. And who would I go with, anyhow?”
Yet I find myself disappointed in the lack of flavor of this summer. While I dream of adventure, I can’t seem to tare my eyes from the people who are doing it better than I am. They do it better because they don’t stop to wonder what others think about them. It’s not recklessness, but freedom.
What should I do, then? What does adventure look like? It never thrusts itself onto somebody. It doesn’t just happen to you. My brother pointed me to a poem by Mary Oliver, and the penultimate sentence is so poignant. “Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?”
I won’t let adventure happen to me in these last weeks. I’ll chase that freedom, and stop worrying about what others think.