I recently watched a YouTube video by a man called Al Humphries about embracing the idea of micro-adventures. Al Humphries is a macro-adventurer. Like, we’re talking trips to the South Pole and kayaking across the Atlantic Ocean. One evening, in a tent in a remote wilderness somewhere, a friend of his made an offhand crack (not intended to cause pain) about Al being off adventuring while his kids were back home. Apparently this was already a sore spot for Al, and he burst into tears.

Back home in England, Al decided to dial it back. Instead of planning grand schemes involving major planning and a serious element of risk, he endeavored instead to micro-adventure. What does that look like? It can be as little as taking a sleeping bag up a nearby hill and waking up to the sunrise.

Today my friend John told me that sometimes when we’re in pain, extroverts become introverts. I’ve been giving this a lot of thought today, and I think he’s right about that. I think that as I’ve drawn my normally ebullient self inward, I’ve also shrunk away from new experiences. Everything in this unfamiliar place has seemed daunting, and difficult, and far away. Every thing I’ve done here, be it as simple as riding the Max to work, or getting my bike to Gateway Green, or fieldwork, or even meeting friends for a drink across town, or attending shows, has felt like an obstacle to overcome.

It’s so strange that I gained so much confidence from doing big things like leaving a fractured relationship, moving halfway across the country, and starting a new job, and yet I’ve lost confidence when it comes to the little things. I can’t explain it. I can do the big things, it’s the everyday things and trying new things, even really small ones, that get me wrapped around the axle.

So, I’ve decided to take Al’s advice. I probably won’t drag a sleeping bag up the nearest hill, because god knows what would happen to me if I went to sleep in Forest Park (that’s apparently where they dump the bodies, according to my friend Steve. Who told me this, incidentally, while I was out for a run in Forest Park by myself, in dense fog). But I will try to think of the things I do that are outside of my comfort zone as micro adventures, instead of daunting tasks.

In order for this to be successful, I feel like I would also like to incorporate new micro-adventures into my routine days. We could even call them nano-adventures. Or pico-adventures. I think today I had a couple of nano-adventures. I rode my bike (TWICE! And two different bikes) to the MADE bike show. Then I had a pico-adventure: I used the Portland street car for the first time to make a trip across downtown to REI to buy a sleeping bag.

REI wasn’t the adventure, the street car was. For some reason, I’ve been reluctant to use any form of transportation other than the MAX, because I’m afraid. It’s so dumb, but there it is. I think I’m not afraid of the MAX because I became familiar with it on a visit to Portland long before I moved here, in a different time, when I had a solid home and partnership. Every new thing since that split has loomed up in front of me, menacing.

This weekend will also be a micro-adventure. I’m participating in an overnight relay walk with 10 coworkers, called Portland to Coast. I will get to see the ocean at the end, and spend the next 24 hours in and out of a van with women I genuinely like. I’ve been calling it “my stupid race”, and doing an overnight jaunt like this is a little bit dumb, but part of me is really looking forward to an adventure I don’t have to do by myself, in which I am trying a new thing but also have lots of support. I think it will probably be a lot of fun.

I guess I’m shifting the paradigm from fear to fun, from dread to anticipation. Hopefully this will help bring back my extrovert side, eventually, and restore my confidence to try new things, at least on a small scale. What do you think, Ghost? Is this a postive way to move forward, or am I setting myself up for disappointment?