During a recent roadtrip it dawned on me that my passport was set to expire next year. Considering the reports of long backlogs for US passport renewals there was no way I was going to risk being grounded. I hopped onto the State Department’s website yesterday to start the process.
I guess I’m the complete opposite of a procrastinator—a full blown, undeniable precrastinator. I know, for a fact, that I inherited the precrastinator gene from my Dad who served in not one but two branches of the US military. My younger brother Curt also inherited this gene. It’s, generally, served us both well in our lives even if it can frustrate the bejeezus out of those around us who aren’t of the precrastinator persuasion themselves.
Being a precrastinator makes any task looming over your head feel like a annoying nag, or more accurately like Chinese water torture. Tasks must be completed, with care, and expediency.
Enough about precrastination and back to the passport.
As I was entering all of the necessary information into the website for my renewal I had to dig out my current passport for the passport number. As I paged through the book I was flooded with memories of the trips each stamp represented—the person I was before and after each trip, the people I met, the experiences, and the sheer adventure of it all.
Probably the biggest surprise was the baby-faced picture on the second page of that passport. The 2017 version of me was living a lifelong dream. A magnificent world had just opened up that was still so shiny and new—it filled me with such enthusiasm and I was completely in awe of it.
In the past few years I’ve come to realize how vital adventure is to my personal happiness and well-being. This adventure doesn’t necessarily have to be something as grand as international travel. It can be new experiences, new foods, learning guitar, reading a good book, studying a new language, riding a new bike trail. It can be anything opposite of regular habits and old patterns. If I go without adventure for too long I ache for it. Something inside of me begins to wither. Without new experiences I feel as though I become “less of myself”— listless and gloomy. That's the best way I can think of to describe it.
The possibilities of where this next passport will take me from 2027 to 2037 fill me with profound excitement and optimism. The picture in it will look very different than the one that appeared before it. More grey, deeper lines, slightly less symmetry in the features but the eyes remain the same and hold the same hope.
There’s so much of the world I haven’t seen yet and need to experience. I want to enjoy gelato and pasta in Tuscany. Experience the lavender fields in full bloom and wines of Provence. Completely lose myself in the hustle and bustle of Tokyo and let the ancient wisdom of Kyoto wash over me.
It’s mind-blowing to think about but in 2037 I’ll be on the doorstep of seventy years old. Ideally, these next ten years will be a decade of frequent travel. I want to do this before I’m too old and too settled to fully enjoy it. I hope this thirst for adventure is never quenched and never fades because I can’t quite imagine life without it.
As Chief Seattle (eader of the Duwamish and Suquamish peoples in the Pacific Northwest) so wisely said, "Take only memories, leave only footprints." Perhaps these memories will be the greatest comfort and security of all in old age and the footprints, my greatest legacy.
All for now. Make this a wonderful day for yourself.
