Excersize your Adventure!

Hello Fellow Victory Seekers and Welcome!

Do you remember being 6 or 9, even 14? 

Adventure was so easy to capture then.  No need to climb a waterfall or sky dive. You didn't actually have to go to Timbuktu. In those days to adventure, all you needed to do was leave the house. By yourself.  

And while you ran around your backyard playing pirates and indians or exploring the shallow pools of your neighborhood creek, you weren't afraid of anything.

The world was easily conquered then with minimal supplies - no cell phones or wallets, no id cards or car keys- all you needed were your best friends, be they imaginary or otherwise.

Experiences were always new and fresh and the victory of your days seemed never ending.

And as such, you may grow up thinking "I'm adventurous! Hell yes I like new things!" because new was- well... everything. 

But I've recently come to realize that this sense of adventure one thinks one has (again, the part of one will be played by me), that desire to do something entirely new and challenging is actually- a muscle. 

And like any other muscle, if you don't use it - you lose it.

Case in point:

Joe and I were recently married (in June-YaY!). We took a short honeymoon to Disney World - (as a side note let me just say that you can hit 6 theme parks in 3 days... but unless your actually insides are pixie dust and sugar, as are mine, it is not recommended for mere mortals or the faint of heart) and then we planned for a big fall Europe (Jessica-want) or Africa (Joe-want) trip for this fall.

After MUCH debate and late night conversations - and after many a moment of me pulling Joe off the crazy train of the places we could go and the sights we could see (The Galapagos, Antarctica and the Trans-Siberian Railroad to name a few... So some were actual crazy trains) we decided on Spain, Morocco and Paris.

If he gets a night in the Sahara, I get two in Paris.

Now don't get me wrong I really DO want to see Mongolia (have you seen the documentary Babies?) 

And I'm sure Bosnia is beautiful- but for a honeymoon I'd be perfectly happy to hit Paris, England and anywhere really... anywhere I've already been that is.

And that's when I realized it; the reason my "adventurous self" kept balking at... Well, the Balkans- was because this will be the first really new adventure I've been on since my father took me to Europe as a grad present from high school... over 10 years ago!

Think of it- when was the last time you did something completely new? Went somewhere completely different?

Now, since that trip to Europe (France, Switzerland and Italy) I have traveled to England (again), Paris (again), Niagara Falls and the lake district north of Toronto (new), Idaho (new), Rome (again) and a Blues trip down south where Joe's and my penchant for being excellent Plan B'ers (being awesome at reformatting your plans on the fly - usually to something better- when Plan A goes all sad trombone on you) meant we saw everything-  except for any blues... Whatsoever.  

That trip rocked. 

And YES- I had never been to Dollywood (harvesty). Or Boise (beautiful) or seen Niagara lit up at dusk while driving between the two countries on a bridge (probs should have had Joe driving for that moment- so sparkly) but the basics were similar: we drove there and could easily follow the English signs back to home base. Or, wherever we were, they spoke English and the culture was very similar to mine because it was, in essence, my culture. 

But Morocco? An Islamic country (albeit the most western accepting of them all- I mean if you can film the Sex and the City movies there, it must have a certain level of western-chill)- but an entire country where women and men are treated differently and in a way that my American sensibilities are not familiar with (Big thanks for that Gloria! :). 

And riding a camel? I mean, not in a circle at a pet a pet zoo- but into the Sahara, as an actual mode of transportation, and the sleeping there. 

Hell at this stage of my life, my adventure muscle was all "oh no, I'm sorry you must have misunderstood, I have a new apartment a lovely couch and cable - I'm good here" when we spoke of Spain, let alone North Africa!

BUT- one cannot attain Victory at life unless one actually tries to live it!

And I am realizing- or remembering- that at the age of 32, of course I am not done seeing and doing new things. 

Thank goodness for that. 

So, as not to be a fuddy-duddy, well before my time, and perhaps to work off a little of that 9-5 desk-butt I fear I may be developing. And to add to my resume "I've been to Spain, Morocco and slept in the desert."

In order to continue living life and living up to that awesome fun, silly and adventurous girl my Joe fell in love with, I - my Fellow Victory Seekers...

Am going on an ADVENTURE!

I highly encourage you to do the same. Do something new today - hell just leave the house without your cell phone.

I triple-dog-dare you ;-) I mean I didn't. But that's how I can be posting this from Miami's international airport mere hours before we take off for two weeks in uncharted (by us at least) waters, sands and foreign lands. 

To International Victory!

And to Spain! :-)

Flying high somewhere between DC and Miami

 

 

Travel essential... chocolate

 

 

 

Adorable... but who comes to the airport WITHOUT luggage? Ponderous.

The Beginning

Hello Victory Seekers and welcome!

First let me say that this entry is a tad longer than the others shall be (I hope).  But it is the verbal keystone of my stupendous Kennedy Center-like blog, if you will. (yes, I could have chosen, Chrysler Building-like or Notre Dame-like but I think once you get to know me, you'll agree, a performance venue fits the bill.)

This being the premier entry, it is an important one, and thus, may be a bit wordy - feel free to jump around, take frequent water breaks and by all means STRETCH my darlings. Stretch.

Straitch... ees good for you

As a way of introduction to me and my blog (less form fitting than a shadow but much more intimate) I would like to tell you all about myself (the last word spoken funnily in your head, if not, read again with funny voice to catch up).

My name is Jessica, though I respond to many variations and monikers, not all of them flattering but each close to my heart in its own way. I am in my early 30's (read: acts like I'm 12) I am recently married to a wonderful man, name o' Joe, who purports to all but myself and our two black cats that he is indeed a grown-up, we love all films (mostly old classics), I love everything British (am half-one after all) and as you may have surmised, we have two black cats; Dora and Ripley.

Dora's full name is actually Pandora, because she has all the world's evils inside of her (though I, as her mother, can see no wrong) and Ripley was named as such because when we rescued her she skulked around the vets office as if she were an alien on a space station awaiting the obligatory fight scene (ironically, though not surprisingly, Dora turned out to be more of the hissing alien).

Dora - Our spoiled single (until this summer) child. Look at that pun-um!
How could this face do wrong?

Ripley - Our battle-tested stray, quietly awaits the alien siege.

In September, this year, we all moved from a lovely 7th floor one-bedroom in Washington D.C. To a 3rd floor, two-bedroom, just outside the Capital (the burbs).

No more are our evenings spent with our south facing windows open to the community patio, our neighbor's voices bouncing gaily off the concrete walls of our high-rise whilst music from their homes swayed easily into ours (it was much akin to the lovely sights and sounds Jimmy Stewart had in Rear Window - minus the broken leg and the mysterious murders).

Now our (albeit quite large) patio faces a flock of trees and the shady north so 'tis pretty and green -but quiet. Distinctly lacking the rich flavors of humanity. Most a pity.

So we joke that we have not moved to the burbs; but the country. The large pantry behind the kitchen has been dubbed The Barn and the shelf that stretches above the open-to-below living room and kitchen is now The Hayloft... I enjoy naming things. (I firmly believe in enhancing the mundane and naming is a marvelous method in which to do so.)

I am slowly unpacking our life from a one bedroom, one bath into a two bed with 2.5 bath (but the stairs, did I mention the 3rd floor walk-up stairs?) And as I do, I have been taking a very "New Year's Day" approach to it all.

You know; that exciting time when we all make steadfast resolutions and grandiose promises with a gleeful glazed look in our eyes, enhanced by way too much sugar and seasonal twinkle lights (is there such a thing?) we fix our gaze skyward and declare to all:

TODAY! - I....WILL START ANEW!

I said ANEW dammit!

So the challenge is to find a place for everything and everything in its place, yes? And then your laundry is always clean and your sheets are never mussed, your sink is always void of dishes and you never get that face from your mother when she visits... you know that look.

Well that sounds easy! (fights to control rolling of eyes) But, really, thus far, Joe and myself (cue funny voice) have done a pretty great job of making the house work for us (cue VICTORY!).

And as I began to accomplish my small and large victory steps through this life anew, I thought I would compile them all here and low-and-behold, they would create my very own Victory Dance! (Did you see that one coming? You did, I knew it, you're so smart, and stylish- and my goodness- your hair looks fanTAstic today.)

So that's what I'm doing here. And since YOU are here too, one can only assume (One being me) that YOU are a fellow Victory Seeker, and as such I must address you thusly - tis the polite thing to do

So, fellow Victory Seeker... you feelin' lucky?

Join me and let us adventure into the wild-blue yonder of life!

(Probably your kitchen and laundry room, but don't let them trick you 

into thinking that's not life... they're so tricky)

(Joe leading me to crazy adventure, silly-lovely boy)

 So, to VICTORY!... and- to YOU!