About Adventure
A reflection on that thin line between excitement and fear
I am just back from five days of hiking and wild camping in Scotland. Five days of silence, rugged hills, ruined castles and abbeys, wind, rain and rainbows. It was fantastic. How could it not be? Wilderness, peace, nature, history, sceneries and even local food, all for myself.
But is also made me wonder: What is an adventure, really?
Merriam-Webster calls it an undertaking involving danger and unknown risks. The Cambridge Dictionary says it’s an unusual, exciting, and possibly dangerous activity, or the excitement produced by such activity.
Fair enough, but something is missing there. Those definitions focus on the external facts, like danger, risk or action. They skip what happens inside. For me, adventure is defined by the emotions it stirs up. You can recognise an adventure by the sequence of feelings it takes you through.
It starts long before departure, with the planning: what to do, where and when to go, how to do it, what to bring… Scrolling through possibilities is thrilling and excitement builds as things fall into place.
Then, at some point, excitement turns into doubt. The night before leaving is usually the worst. Why am I doing this? Why not just stay home where everything’s familiar and easy? Before my Scottish hike, the thought of sleeping alone in the wild almost made me give up.
And then the day comes. You set off. The fear doesn’t vanish, but it gets quieter. It melts into the rhythm of walking, of doing, of seeing. You’re too busy being in it. That's what I felt crossing the Barents Sea to Svalbard on our little sailing boat. I was still alert, still aware of the risk, but there was so much to focus on, think about, and enjoy that fear faded into the background. When a pod of dolphins came to play around us, every bit of tension vanished.
When it’s all over, you look back, and the joy and thrill outshine everything else. The fears seem small and far away. You might even wonder why you worried so much. And you’d do it again, maybe after a short pause.
That’s how I recognise an adventure.
If there is no spark in the preparation or no “why am I doing this” the night before, maybe it is just a nice plan.
If during the thing itself fear never gives way to flow or pleasure, then maybe it’s not an adventure either. It’s a challenge, or even an ordeal.
In the end, it’s all relative. Adventure begins where your comfort zone ends. What felt daring to me, sleeping alone in the Scottish hills, would be a casual stroll for a mountain guide. And what Shackleton went through would probably have been pure ordeal for me, not adventure. Same events, different emotions.
PS: Scotland is magic, go if you can!