Why I Keep Pushing Forward
Let’s clear something up right away: I don’t chase adventure for the thrill. I’m not an adrenaline junkie. I don’t sky-dive. I don’t cliff-jump.
So when people ask why I’m always “off somewhere,” trying something new, wandering down unfamiliar streets or making small, changes in my daily routine, I usually smile and say, “I like the challenge.”
But that’s just scratching the surface.
It’s Not the Destination, It’s the Escape from Overthinking
For me, adventure isn’t about checking boxes off a bucket list. It’s about escaping the echo chamber inside my own head.
Being autistic means my brain doesn’t have an off switch. It loops. It obsesses and it overthinks. It spirals into worst-case scenarios before I’ve even brushed my teeth. And don’t get me started on anxiety, it’s like my brain’s default background noise.
Adventure quiets that. Not entirely, but enough. When I’m somewhere new, physically, emotionally, even just mentally, my brain shifts gears. It gets curious instead of panicked. Focused instead of scattered. I stop thinking about the twenty things that could go wrong and start noticing the hundred things that are going right. Even adapting to changes in routine or a problem that I might face on the road.
On a trip to Sedona, Arizona, my power station wasn’t charging properly, putting me at risk of losing all power. This was a big deal because my 12v fridge doesn’t run on its own, and my week’s worth of groceries was at stake. Instead of panicking, heading home, or dwelling on worst-case scenarios, I came up with a solution. I went to a nearby hotel and asked to use one of their power outlets. It might sound simple, but for someone with anxiety, that’s not always an easy step.
Searching for Stillness in Motion
Funny enough, the more I move, the more I feel still inside. That’s the paradox of it.
Back in my late twenties, I took a solo trip starting to Madison, Wisconsin to Virginia, North Carolina, going through Georgia, through Florida and finally back to Wisconsin. I’d been burned out for years, completely underwater with sensory overload and social fatigue. Nothing was working, routines felt like cages, and staying home made my walls feel like they were closing in.
So I packed up my car and left. No big itinerary, just instinct.
The first few days were rough. Change is hard. New smells, new sounds, unfamiliar bedsheets all fueled the nightmare. But then something shifted. I found rhythm in the unknown. I let myself move slowly, breathe deeply, and just be in a way I rarely could back home.
I wasn’t running from life, I was running to myself.
How I Manage the Anxiety That Comes With It
Now, I won’t pretend it’s all magical soul-searching. Adventure, even the mini kind, can send my nervous system into overdrive. New = unpredictable = stressful. And stress, for my brain, can turn real ugly, real fast.
So here’s what I do to keep the panic assholes at bay:
I prep, but not obsessively. A little structure makes space for spontaneity. I bring familiar things when I go somewhere new, like my favorite hoodie or noise-canceling earbuds.
I build in quiet time. Adventure doesn’t have to be go-go-go. Sometimes the most powerful moments are the still ones, like drinking tea in a place I’ve never been, or taking a slow walk without checking my phone every five seconds. There’s immense power in just sitting somewhere new. I often find myself sitting at a campsite, it pure silence, just sitting there and not letting the stress of an itinerary get to me.
I keep mantras close. Mine is simple: “Bruce Lee your goals in the genitals” and ‘Full send that bitch”. That mindset shift alone has saved me more than once.
And when the anxiety hits anyway and it sometimes it does, I let it. I breathe through it. I ride it out like a wave. Because I’ve learned that discomfort isn’t always danger. Sometimes, it’s just growth in disguise.
I was recently in Las Vegas. I realize it’s not for me… At all. The bright lights, noises, traffic, it’s just a recipe for disaster. I found myself extremely stressed out and on the verge of a panic attack, driving around the strip trying to find a place to eat. Sounds simple enough, right? Absolutely not! I used breathing exercises that I’ve adopted throughout my life to keep my cool and adjust to the intense environment. Needless to say, I’ll be booking a hotel away from the strip from here on out!
So, Why Do I Adventure?
Because it helps me see myself clearly. Because it reminds me I’m capable of almost anything. Because it’s how I take back control from a brain that likes to rule me with fear.
I adventure to disrupt the loop, to break the script, to feel alive when everything else tells me to shrink. I do it not despite being autistic but because of it. Because I know what it’s like to be stuck, small, suffocated by routine and expectation.
Every journey I take, big or small, isn’t about escaping who I am. It’s about becoming more of who I’m meant to be.
Have you found your own version of adventure? I’d love to hear what it looks like. Leave a comment, shoot me a message, or just take a small step into your own unknown today. You never know what it might lead to.
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