I don’t know how late it was, where they were, what they were doing, or if they were supposed to be doing it. There I was, a five-year-old nestled under my Dad’s arm, well after dark, wide awake, waiting for my high school aged brothers to come home. After what seemed an eternity, the distinctive rumble of a hatchback Honda Civic with a phantom muffler came to a crescendo, then suddenly stopped. One car door closed. Then the other. Before the house door creaked open, I was out like a light. A peaceful heap of drooling, snoring deadweight on my Dad’s ribs. They had made it home safely; equilibrium was restored in my world and all was well.

The same anxiety has remained my companion into my adult years, and the experiences and responsibilities I’ve gained along the way have rendered me a dutiful practitioner of the worst-case-scenario arts. Mastering my craft has led me to many destinations, few of which I have much appreciation, including: isolation and loneliness, staunch commitment to the familiar, fear of trying new things, social avoidance and awkwardness, and a blaring, chaotic, negative internal dialogue. You know, to name a few.

If you ask anyone who knows me, they would likely say I’m a fairly high-functioning human who fits the bill for a pretty average person (my mom would say I’m extraordinary, because she is the bomb). I like average, it’s like sweater weather after an extended, sweltering, record-high heat summer, and it has served me well over the last several years. The days pass with predictable routine, but over the last several months a heaviness has crept into my consciousness that continues to mount with each passing day. However strong my fear is of unfamiliar places or people, the thing I have come to fear the most is that I will wake up someday to find that I’ve definitively limited my life by fearing to live at all.

Hours pass as I scroll through my Facebook newsfeed. Attempting to be more “productive” with my free time, I browse Pinterest for new ideas and projects that will never be completed. Twitter’s news is consumed and discarded unceremoniously. So much empty space in my day is committed to activities that are bland, unfulfilling, and ultimately leave me with a sense of loss and urgency. Feeling guilty and ashamed of the wasted hours, I scan my brain for a brilliant idea that will be so productive and useful that it fully makes up for it. The search loop spins endlessly, but no results are found.  Panic sets in. Not only did I waste 3 hours on baby animal videos and Chrissy Tiegen tweets (although one could argue that no time is ever wasted on her tweets), but now there’s no silver bullet solution. Now what do I do? I need an answer NOW… I bet I can find one on Pinterest! (… And the cycle continues.)

This experience is not unique. My friends, family, coworkers, even the strangers I pass on the sidewalk stare blankly at their phones and tablets with similar frequency. Their reasons may be different, but we share the same coping mechanism. Numbing our brains with technology, the emotional salve of our generation. At 33, my soul is hungry for more and I no longer find satisfaction in pinning herringbone accent wall tutorials. Doing nothing is no longer enough.

So, I will do something. Fulfillment would be to genuinely connect with people, to try new things, and to explore this amazing world we live in. I want to look people in the eye and have meaningful conversations (normally in conversation, I look at someone’s eyes for a tenth of a second before darting to their teeth, forehead, nose, chin, at my own hands, the table, anything else). I want to hear stories, learn histories, try new hobbies, eat and drink new things, and just kind of… get out there.

Challenge to self: accepted. Which brings me to this place and these words on this page. I love to write, so this space is to chronicle my adventures. This is a personal journey I don’t aim to inspire anyone, but if another person should find an experience relatable or their sense of wonder sparked, I would be so humbled. So here we go. Eyes up, get out there!