I’m an adventurer, thrill seeker, and life enthusiast with a shorter life expectancy than your mother’s cat - Follow my never-ending journey.
I’ve been on the road for nearly seven years.
Some call me a trailblazer, some call me a glorified bum. The truth is I’m just a serial quitter hiding my impulsiveness under the guise of adventure. That’s why I love travel; every day is novel.
On my blog I write about long term travel, personal growth, and the lessons I learn along the way. I believe by sharing your mistakes and misadventures openly with the world you automatically embrace them and learn to be okay with them.
It’s a powerful form of self-therapy.
To explain what I mean let’s travel back to 1989…
I was three years old, and I was pissed off.
My brother was on a giant tire swing, and I wasn’t. At three years old I didn’t know much. But I knew one thing; I wanted to be on that tire swing.
In a flash of genius I had an idea; if I waited for the tire to move all the way up top, and if I then moved to the exact centre, then logically I’d end up on the tire swing and be eternally happy.
Dear Steemians, have you ever done something stupid?
I watched in wonder as the tire swung down towards me, hit me in the face, and launched me into the air like a ball on Newton’s cradle.
Next thing I knew, I saw the spokes of a bicycle going around and around. I tilted my head slightly, and saw my dad. He was cycling like a maniac, holding my little body vertically under his arm like a freshly baked baguette. Moments later he rushed me into the hospital, the doctor patched up the hole in my head, and to this day I have a scar on the side of my head where no hair will grow.
When I got home I showed my wound to all the kids in my street.
That day I was a superstar!
Flash Forward…
I was 23 years old, and I was exhausted.
My face was covered in camouflage paint, I carried a 12kg machine gun, and a 30kg backpack. At 23 years old I didn’t know much. But I knew one thing; I wanted to be a Marine.
It was night, I was in a forest, and I hadn’t slept for three days. Somehow I had gotten separated from all the other recruits and was now trying to find my way back to the pack.
In a flash of genius I had an idea; If I sat down against a tree and closed my eyes for just 10 minutes ... who would know?
Dear Steemians, have you ever been woken up by a drill sergeant?
He snuck up on me, his face 10 centimetres from mine, and with the subtlety of a hand grenade, he yelled:
"What the hell are you doing?"
I woke up in shock, me eyes locked with the drill sergeant’s eyes. He had an evil grin on his face, and we both knew I was screwed. What happened next can only be described as a walk in the park. Except this park was on fire, and so was I. In fact, everything was on fire, because it was HELL.
At the end of that week I rang the bell, and I quit.
But this time when I got home, I didn’t tell anyone. Instead, I lied. I told people I was forced to quit due to an injury. I kept my failure a secret because I was embarrassed that I was not tough enough.
When I was three I failed, and I was a superstar.
When I was 23 I failed, and I was ashamed.
What changed?
As we get older we often hide our mistakes. Our failures become our guilty secrets. We don’t want to be seen as weak and so we keep our shortcomings to ourselves.
Dear Steemians, have you ever kept your failure a secret?
At the moment I’m 32 years old, and I still don’t know much. But I know one thing; a failure isn’t a sign of weakness, it’s not something to be ashamed of. A failure is a sign of strength and survival. A sign of courage that you dared to try something new.
Most of us don’t share our blunders because we don’t want to be seen as incompetent or clumsy, or because we fear our reputation might melt like a snowflake hitting the pavement.
But here’s the thing: If you share your bloopers publicly your brain makes a leap. It’s forced to upgrade as it realises:
Hey, if I’m sharing these failures with the world, then I must be okay with it. Then I must be okay with myself.
And that is why I Steemit; it’s self-therapy on the blockchain.