Now lots of things in that last sentence need to be explained, qualified and….words leave me as my  internal editor scrambles to find the right word…that’s another thing too. I don’t consider myself to be a ‘creative’ writer, although I’ve dabbled in some poetry, won some awards for my short story (singular), because I’ve written a fuck ton of nonfiction graduate school-esque, academian drivel.  But I am undeniably excited to be writing again; I am mostly excited that my brain still has some intellectual capacity other than multitasking 3 jobs and 85 bill due dates. It gives me hope that as my cloud of stress and aniexty disipates with the establishment of a routine and the stabilization in familal economics, I will be able to be creative and expressive once more. oh felicity!

But back to this notion of ‘small adventures.’ As previously mentioned, it was a practice that I developed (and cultivated to some extent) a few years ago, and regrettably have allowed to lapse in the overwhelming wake of graduation, job hunt, engagement, teaching 3 adjunct positions, and getting married. However, I wish to return to the habit of having small adventures. “Small adventures” really, is not so much a ‘habit’ or a ‘practice’ as I have previously called it, but rather a mindset. whoa that’s deep. Lemme esplain.

Once upon a time, I had this crazy summer job selling books door to door, 80 hours a week, straight commission. I did this for 5 summers; it paid pretty week if you could handle the stress. See, crazy shit happens when you are by yourself for 12 hours a day. I’m sure some of those adventures will be recollected here under the fittingly mundane tag of “Bookfield Adventures.” My point being, I learned how to take situations like running off the road INTO A FIELD OF CORN at 10 o’ clock at night in the middle of nowhere Minnesota, totally in stride. (resolution: in case you are wondering: get off your cell phone, get out to assess the damage, restart the car, throw that war machine in reverse and get the hell away from the scene of the crime and giggle deliriously at having to pull corn stalks out of your front grill once safely back home).

So in grad school, this mentality, coupled with a newfound freedom and giddiness at having my own apartment, encouraged me to continue having small adventures: those too will be recounted in their turn, but they were slightly less absurd, more along the lines of relishing a walk to the local coffee house. I gloried in the walkability of it! and the springness of it! and the independence of it! small things surely, but an adventure nonetheless.

Now that I am in the land of the Real World (or as I now choose to think of it:Big Adventure), all of the pressures and responsibilities: namely marriage and full-time gainful employment, weigh heavily on me. (woe is me). I feel myself to be more blind from stress than aware of or seeking out adventures. And so I would like to shift back to more of that ‘being present’ and ‘being adventurous’ stuff, like I used to, before the Real World encroached on my carefully nutured and positive outlook.

So in some sense, yes, this blog will be an attempt to convince myself that adult life is a Big Adventure rather than Endless Vortex of Depression (which would be adjacent to the Pit of Despair, clearly) that I sometimes suspect it is. But it is of course also a chance for me to tell stories, past and present, and really, who doesn’t like stories?