Adventure is one of those things you can’t simply learn about. It’s something you have to feel and experience for yourself. It’s thrill, exploring the unknown, reexploring the known for another time, discovering yourself, making experiences and memories with new people, and getting out of your comfort zone. Maybe adventure requires traveling, maybe it doesn’t. I used to think it did, but as I mature I realize that adventure is more about escaping my comfort zone than embarking on a voyage, although the latter could result in the former. Either way, everyone’s adventure starts somewhere.

Ah, Maine. Beautiful Maine. The scent of pine penetrated the air, the breeze delicately moved my hair, and ranges of mountains covered the horizon as I overlooked the blue lake shimmering in the sunshine. I was merely nine years old when I went to a sleep away camp in central Maine. My family had a history of attending the camp, from my grandfather to my uncle, to my father, my older brother, and now, me. From my brother’s time at the camp, I recognized numerous faces upon entering the camp, but it remained an unexplored world, one where I roamed independently, used shotguns, knives, bow-and-arrows, axes, and other items my mom would worry about if she knew. This was my first true adventure, sleeping without my parents nearby, in a remote location in central Maine, with many other people I’d never met, and with limited resources. While it was my first adventure, it certainly wasn’t my biggest, and while it allowed for some personal growth, I wouldn’t describe it as a time that evoked meaningful change in my life. I came out of the experience not really knowing what adventure meant to me, only sort of understanding the concept of independence, and realizing that I had work to do in uncovering these meanings. A real adventure, however, far away from Maine, on the other side of the Atlantic ocean, one experience did spark a change in me, and it’s one I’ll never forget.

The biggest adventure I experienced occurred a little over two years ago, in mid-July. As a language learner, my parents agreed that it would be a good idea for me to further my exploration of the Spanish language by attending a Spanish summer camp in the very best place in the world to learn the language: Madrid, Spain. When I initially heard, it sounded like a reasonable idea to me as well. However, once my parents said good-bye and I realized I was stuck in the middle of Spain, thousands of miles away from my family in a country on a different continent, I had second-thoughts. I had no roommate, did not know a single person, and was in a foreign land. It was like everyone had been best friends with each other since birth, while I was just the new kid, alone, observing the other kids laughing, smiling, and enjoying themselves. These factors caused me to feel isolated and made me deeply regret my decision to attend the camp. I contacted my parents and kindly explained my dilemma, even requesting to be picked up and taken home. Although my parents understood my plight, they refused to consider taking me home as an option, which made me feel as if the whole world was against me, that the forces of the universe were fighting against me, that I was alone in my battle. I had lost hope.

It seems crazy to admit it, but fighting through the pain and persevering during those challenging times was one of the best decisions of my life. As the counselors threw me into social situations (which felt like being thrown into the freezing summer camp lake in Maine on no notice, in underwear and athletic shorts), as I accepted the fact that my parents were not coming, and as I got into the rhythm of being a camper in Madrid, my situation improved and I decided to dedicate my time to making the most of my experience. The defining moment, however, the one that truly altered my view of the camp, of adventure, and independence, happened quickly, within a single afternoon. As a teenager in the program with signed forms, I was given the opportunity to leave campus for up to four hours. Immediately, I, along with a couple of other people who were also interested in this opportunity, called an Uber to travel to the heart of the city and explore as desired. First stop: 5 Guys. Sure, we were in Spain, but we had to get a quick taste of home before continuing the adventure. After we ate and stepped outside, we began walking. The warmth of the sun brightened our moods, the taste of the burger resonated in our mouths, the surprisingly clean city air spread throughout our lungs, and the great city of Madrid awaited. Now this is the definition of adventure. Exploring the unknown, spending time with new faces, walking simply for the purpose of exploring, going somewhere and nowhere at the same time, meandering without a goal or location in mind, fighting and overcoming the discomfort of change, gaining independence, deriving growth from the experience, and contributing to the improvement of one’s self. Being evacuated from our comfort zone and plopped into an entirely new place with new peers is painful, but persevering and maintaining focus ultimately results in growth, giving meaning to life and providing motivation for taking risks and living life to the fullest.