The Habit of Adventure
Adventure may be found in the most mundane places. A discarded railway token may precipitate an adventure as easily as a gold doubloon. Just ask Jim Hawkins of Black Hill Cove, Lucy playing in the wardrobe, or Fern in the barnyard.
Cervantes said that the road is always better than the inn, but what would Chaucer say to that? One may find adventure as easily in one’s oatmeal as one might on the high seas. Indeed, who knows whether mermaids and other adventurous creatures really prefer brine to porridge? It may simply be that we have not trained ourselves to look for adventures in common places; which is astonishing, since adventures rarely present themselves unlooked for, and almost always begin unremarkably.
For what is adventure, after all? Buried treasure? No. Finding buried treasure? That is closer to the mark. Adventure is the sheer act of looking for treasure. Like a chemical reaction, adventure is what happens when one’s sense of wonder acts upon the world. Wonder, in turn, is what happens when the world acts upon the senses.
It is a mistake to relegate adventure to child’s play, nor is adventure confined within the imagination. Precisely the contrary; adventure is the realm of magic, and heroes, and dragons. That is to say, adventure is very much real life.
Like Picasso said of artists, all children are adventurers. The trouble is how to remain one after one grows up. For when we children grow up, we cease believing in magical creatures, and find that life consisting mainly of something like drudging through rain. We begin to walk with our umbrellas up, heads down, brains full of ever more sophisticated thoughts. We learn to avoid the rain, and in so doing we avoid the rainbow. In short, we grow up and forget that adventure is an inconvenience rightly considered.
Now, there may or may not be a leprechaun at the rainbow’s end. I won’t argue the point. But the rainbow remains, and a rainbow is a thing of magic by itself.
As we grow, we believe that we become self sufficient. We think we come to understand the world. This self deception is mostly harmless. But it is a sad affair to let the wondrous quality of a rainbow be dimmed by an understanding how rainbows work. Is not rather a prism a magic talisman?
Further, is a harrowing, death-defying escapade of the kind seen in films really necessary to constitute an adventure, when our hearts already beat against all odds?
It is true that adventure is a special type of story, a particular genre of film. But adventure is more than that as well. It is a metaphor for life. Adventure is the essence of a life well lived; A life of action, and bravery, and wonder.
And adventures, like life, are episodic. They have a beginning, middle, and end. As we grow old (perhaps the most harrowing adventure of all) and by and by draw near to the end of our tale, what stories we shall have for young and eager ears! Every hero becomes a mentor, and a mentor is twice a hero.
If we fail to detect adventure here, we are like the man who prays for a sign and then shoos away the butterfly. Adventure, like a butterfly, will light upon our shoulders if we let it, and will sometimes punch us in the mouth. But we should not be surprised when this occurs. Instead, we shall draw our sword, our bow, our oatmeal spoon, and fight the dragon back. After all, the only true use of treasure after moth and rust corrupt is to have fought a dragon for it.
Adventures in Togetherness 