Adventures are curious things: exciting and unusual, surprising, thrilling, risky even. Children tend to be adventurous but people have certain tendency to remain that way, too, just not everyone and the way of looking for adventures usually changes. For what I’ve seen, some people long for them even after losing the feeling of firsthand adventures. Those are the people who keep reading novels thick as a brick for light evening reads, watching films of unearthly incidents through their days off and enjoying shows with more twists and turns than an average sand road out in the sticks. Nothing seems to be enough for their adventure-hungry minds and even if their own life doesn’t always feel that magical, they do have the sensation for ventures. There’s nothing wrong with that unless it makes the life itself feel boring, which is a very unfortunate side-effect of media and culture consumption, and not at all what those glorious things should inspire.
However, the great thing about adventures is that, in the end, they happen to everyone: even to people who feel like nothing ever happens to them… And if you’ve ever read a book or seen a film, that kind of people are most often the main characters. Nonetheless, stumbling upon one can feel difficult sometimes, and that’s actually the trick: don’t try to force them, just stand back a bit and observe, and soon they’ll come to you – a little bit like fairies. Maybe it’s a bit like that with everything. They say love comes to you when you stop looking, too, and I think same goes for many other things that require a little bit of luck. One thing is for sure: when you start trying very hard, it becomes a chore and instead of an adventurer, you become a thrill-seeker.
Adventuring itself is nothing more but living with a certain attitude, and even a so called boring life becomes an adventure when you start thinking it that way, I’ve learned from experience. When I first started to draw comics about my own life years and years back, I made a strip about not having anything to draw about because my life is too dull. A senior comic artist gave me advice and told me that life does become more interesting if I just keep drawing more comics about it. It never happened to me in the most literal sense, mostly because I’m not much of a comic person, but the idea of the wee fragment of artistic street-wise does hold water. When you start looking at the world around you like a creative, someone with a story to tell, you start noticing bits and pieces that are bound to grow in significance, even if they seem small at first and out there. Those small smithereens are nothing but adventure pieces waiting for assembling, and your own head is where that magic is to happen.
I myself have a long history of tumbling from one adventure to another, even if I haven’t always noticed it. I’m still not completely sure of how I do it but I have to say it’s quite a delight, most of the time, and such a horrendous pain whenever else. I’m certainly not complaining as my life wouldn’t be the same without these small things, unplanned nights in unplanned hotels, staggerings through cities I’ve only read vague articles about and people who aren’t sure what I end up chatting with them. Every bad cup of coffee that’s worthy of a tweet or a thought or a mention in the writing is to be cherished – if not at the moment of sleep deprivation at the lonely airport, perhaps three weeks later when it’s turned into a story to tell. Many of my stories used to be born that way: there were things about life that inspired me, little, tiny things that people don’t always think to be worth mentioning. I always had the knack for writing surrealism based on roadsigns and empty calendar pages and poetry about space people. It was sort of my thing in fiction and I’m not entirely sure what happened to it – I might go back there if that tickles my fancy when I get back to Pendulum, that I should start writing again.
However, enough with the writing for now: the night is falling softly and the trees charting the horizon have started to morph into silhouettes. The road under the window looks strangely blue and purple, and it’s beautiful to look at. It’s only midnight but the tea has run out. Just remember never to look for an adventure so hard that you cannot see it when it finally happens.
The last sentence’s based on this tweet I composed before brewing my cuppa. This entry was written with Earl Grey.