Today I am going on an adventure.
But first, I need to pack.
There are simple things - water and rope, knife and buckle, pants and hat - that need packing, and I fold them all carefully away in the bottom of my bag. In my pockets I stuff matches and candles, I stuff flowers and crackers, and gold and silver rings, and a single blue pen.
These are simple things, easy things. I have the space and I have the necessity.
Next is a bit difficult. Should I pack my spear or my sword? My torch or my walking stick? My lock or my key? These things are a little harder.
If I run into a dragon, I’ll want to have packed a golden wrapped sphere of chocolate, all sparkly cellophane hiding warm and gooey and melty sugar inside that will sate his fire and warm his tongue enough to tell me a secret. If I run into a mermaid, I’ll want to have packed my whiskey, an amber brown liquid fire trapped in a glass bottle that will be the closest thing she’ll have to feeling the sun on her toes (fins). If I run into a wood nymph, I’ll want to have packed my Rubik's cube, scrambled with all of the colors out of sorts so that they will have to spend ages twisting and turning every side until each colored square falls into place so that I will have enough time to pick three bright red leaves for a potion.
But these things are unpredictable, and such as the nature of adventures, I can’t bring everything with me and so I must leave a few things behind.
Hmm, what to leave behind?
Should I leave behind my fear of dogs? Those large ones with the big teeth and wet drooly lips, at least I think I could handle a small beagle or pomeranian, but what if I need to bribe my way past Cerberus? There’s no use in fearing dogs when there’s three heads that need facing and taming and feeding and petting. Should I leave behind my fear of heights? That dizzying feeling of looking down from the 3rd floor or the 165th or the 472nd and suddenly feeling as if the clouds are beneath my feet and the concrete sidewalk is above my head. It wouldn’t do to freeze in fear if I am needed to climb to the top of the mountain and pick a jeweled star from Orion’s belt.
I tuck everything away and leave a few things piled by the door, choices weighed and chances taken.
Well it seems like that’s all there is to it. I heft my pack and take up my walking stick (I left my torch behind next to my fear of falling) and I lock the door behind me (I’ll keep the key on a silver chain around my neck) and I face the path before me.
But it seems that in all of the rush of packing I do believe I have left something behind. Something important.
I pat my pockets and shake my pack. It rattles and giggles and pushes me to be on my way. But there is something I am forgetting and I cannot leave without it and so I must turn back.
I search beneath my bed, but there’s only dust bunnies playing poker in the corner. I search the cabinets above the sink but the only things that are stacked in there are large round silver coins to bribe the ferryman across the river. I shake out blankets and scarves and armor and socks, but stardust is the only thing that comes tumbling out.
I set my pack down and kick off my boots and lay face down on my bed. I can’t seem to find it today but that’s okay. There’s always time for adventure, it’s out there after all, on the road and out the door. Waiting. Always patient for its wayward travelers. There will always be another day and another chance, and there’s unlimited chances and choices and changes in the world.
I think I’ll find my courage another day.
I’ll go on an adventure tomorrow.
Sometimes we want to go on adventures and we're all ready and prepared and then we lose our nerve and cant go. And that's ok. Adventure will always be waiting for those who wish to find it. Even if it has to wait to be found another day.
:) Kathryn