The never-ending adventure

Sometime in our early-30s, many of us begin to slip into an existence of monotonous days, broken up only by the occasional pre-packaged, drive-by vacation. Like camels replenished in a muddy oasis, we return to our daily lives, held over by a brief rest that scarcely justifies the rest of the year’s labor.

On the other hand, I suspect I could take my daughter to Disney World for a year and the moment we returned home, she’d wake up wondering what came next. A walk in the rain? A trip to the park? Running around outside? New books to read?

For her, the day itself is the adventure. She has no long-term reliance on an arbitrarily short escapade in a fantasy world.

The last six months have been tough for me. I have enjoyed the solitude of quarantine and the abundance of time with my family, I just miss the bigger adventures. I need those back.

But it would be a shame to lose sight of the never-ending adventure that is before me each morning when I wake up.