In praise of adventures

Five years ago today, I did something really brave, if I may say so myself. I got on a plane and flew to South Africa, where I spent two weeks on my own.

I say that like it was a spontaneous thing. It really wasn't. It took months of planning. Months of saving. Months of dithering. Months of anxious phone calls to the guys at Real Gap who dealt patiently with each and every one of my amateur, ridiculous questions.

 But, at the end of it all, it was the first time I'd flown on my own. It was the first time I'd been anywhere as culturally different as South Africa. Heck, it was the first time I'd even been to Africa - or to anywhere in the Southern Hemisphere for that matter. And I survived. Not only that, I thrived.

I made new friends, both human and not-so-human. I learnt how to haggle. I got an insight into modern African culture. I learnt more about how other people live.

I was 21 years old when I did that. I'd graduated from uni four months previously. I'd been hopping around various short-term jobs and internships, looking for a break into journalism (little did I know that I had another 14 months of that ahead of me before landing a permanent job). Now, at the age of 26, I can't imagine doing something like that. I'd love to, but I've always got an excuse ready; I can't get the time off work. That's too much money to spend on two weeks. That 21 year old seems like a different person

But if 21 year old me can do it, 26 year old me definitely can. 26 year old me definitely should. Why am I writing this here? I'm making a public promise to myself - that way I can't renege on it - to be more spontaneous. To do more things. To not let the what-ifs hold me back.

Here's to more adventures.