Adventure is out there.

The last major trip I got to go on was to Michigan. I drove across the country, from Arizona to Michigan, in about 30 hours' time. I woke up on Route 66, I ate a sub for breakfast while looking over the freeway somewhere near Missouri (I think.) It was a whirlwind of a trip, but I don't regret it. It was an adventure--not a vacation.

I don't want to write too much about vacation travel right here (I have a whole blog dedicated to that) but I do want to write about adventure. The trouble is, I'm not sure how to define it.

It's the feeling I get when I set foot in an airport, backpack strapped around my chest. The pit of my stomach lifts like I'm on a roller coaster as I hear the hustle and bustle of people on the move. My senses tense up and relax; my anxieties disappear.

It's how my heart beats when I'm somewhere risky. Exploring an abandoned building, following a protest with my camera, biking somewhere at night. I know I could very well be in harm's way, but I also know I'll be fine.

It's the voice of a stranger with whom I've struck up a conversation. Discussing things like we've known each other for years, listening to the words hanging between us as the train rumbles onward, the plane slices through air, or the cars pass on the sidewalk.

Adventure is the assurance of a large world to be explored as well as the small place I have been given to occupy.