Back in January, I spent a night away in my little campervan TC, for the first time in ages.
It was -3°C outside, which perhaps wasn’t the most obvious way to rediscover my joy in life. I wrote about it at the time in A Night at -3°C
As I look back eight months later, I see that little trip differently, because it marked the beginning of something.
The previous few years had been pretty challenging, with caring responsibilities and working my way through trauma, recovery and therapy. Somehow, during that journey, my life had shrunk.
I’d become bored. Not the I don’t know what to do, can I find a decent film on Prime? kind of bored. I felt squashed and despondent. My world had become very small.
And I realised I was missing something.
I was missing adventure.
I didn’t want to escape my life or abandon my responsibilities. I just wanted something that had within it novelty, curiosity and anticipation. Something that came with a little bit of I wonder what will happen?
Towards the end of 2025, I began doing some work on my values with my therapist. I picked four words and even painted them onto a little stone to keep on my desk.
Perhaps the most surprising word I chose was adventure.
But I didn’t just want Adventure painted on a pebble. I wanted adventure in my actual, lived life.
So what would adventure look like for me? A woman in her 50s with responsibilities?
Well, adventure certainly wasn’t going to mean climbing Everest. But I decided I could try to make room for one night and a day each month that would be mine to explore.
And wonderfully, I’ve been able to do that.
I’ve been away in my little campervan quite a number of times, sometimes on my own and sometimes meeting up with friends. I’ve stayed up late for midnight Zoom calls with friends in the USA. I’ve explored Manchester and art museums and walked my legs off in Southport.
And there have been other adventures too. Some have involved driving a little way. One involved going only two miles from home. Sometimes it’s simply been coffee and a scone at the little local park.
The thing that brings them together isn’t travel.
It’s doing something new or interesting, perhaps slightly unpredictable, simply because I’m curious about it.
These little mini-adventures haven’t transformed my circumstances. I’m still caring. I’m still carrying responsibilities. I haven’t run away from my life.
After all, I’m talking about one day and night a month, not disappearing to the Maldives for six weeks!
But something disproportionate has happened.
It’s brought back some life, some spark and some vitality.
The adventure itself might last only a day. Still, there’s the anticipation beforehand, the enjoyment while I’m doing it, the memories I have afterwards, and the sense that life still has plenty of possibilities.
And that’s much bigger than 24 hours.
When I first started thinking about deliberately choosing adventure for myself, it felt like a bit of a plot twist in the story I was living. So I designed myself a little Plot Twist: Adventure logo, complete with my little campervan, whom we call TC (Tiny Camper).
And this week, my friend gave me the wonderful hoodie she’s made from my design.
I love it.
And I think there’s something quite lovely about the fact that in January I dared to write Adventure on a small stone sitting on my desk beside my laptop, and in September I have ADVENTURE written boldly across a hoodie as I head off again.
And yes, you can have a little smile at just how Andrea it is, to design my own adventure hoodie.
So this week’s adventure is Newcastle.
I’m driving right across the country because I’ve found a talk that fascinates me: The Science of Trauma and the Body. I’m going to drive across, explore some of the coast, go to the talk, spend the night in TC and then head home.
Hopefully this night will be somewhat warmer than the -3°C night in January!
I’m not escaping my responsibilities, and my life hasn’t suddenly become easy or carefree. I’ve simply started making a little space within it for something I’ve realised matters to me.
Adventure isn’t taking me away from my life. Somehow, it’s helping me feel more alive within it.
Is there something that makes you feel more alive that has quietly disappeared from your life?
What might it look like to make just a little room for it to reappear?