Whenever I see the word “adventure” what immediately comes to mind is the movie The Hobbit.
At the start of the movie, Gandalf paid a visit to Bilbo. “I am looking for someone to share in an adventure that I am arranging,” he said, “and it’s very difficult to find anyone.”
“I should think so – in these parts!” Bilbo agreed. “We are plain quiet folk who have no use for adventures. Nasty disturbing uncomfortable things! Make you late for dinner! I can’t think what anybody sees in them.”
“You’ll have a tale or two when you come back,” Gandalf explained.
“You can promise that I’ll come back?” Bilbo asked.
“No,” Gandalf replied. “And if you do, you will not be the same.”
We all know how that story continued.
Bilbo went off on an adventure, and when he came back he was not the same, and had one hell of a tale to tell.
I can’t help but think, what if he had never gone, because he never wanted to leave the comfort of his lovely little hobbit hole?
That story never would have been an interesting book or movie, am I right?
That struck a chord in me because ever since I hit my thirties, I became like Bilbo… the old Bilbo, that is, the one who thought that adventures were uncomfortable things and would rather stay at home and be comfortable because it was too tiring and troublesome to go out.
I used to be the girl who was always on the go, the one who was rarely ever at home on weekends because that was far too boring, the girl who grabbed every opportunity to travel and try something new, the girl who was given a pillow shaped like a foot for her “something that represents you” because she had “itchy” feet.
Nowadays, I prefer staying in and lying on the couch or bed while binge-watching TV shows and stuffing my face full of junk food.
During one such instance, I was watching Sex and the City reruns on cable when I saw an episode where a friend of Carrie told her: “One day, you’ll wake up and not recognize yourself.”
That’s when it hit me… that had already happened to me.
Sob. I need to get my sense of adventure back.