So sometimes, I suppose, the fates combine in our favor. Usually, small, insignificant things…maybe a quarter on the sidewalk or a text from a friend when you need it most, but every so often GIANT waves of good karma wash over you.

As most of you know, after having to cut last year short, I was stuck.
In Iowa. Now, Iowa is a grand place. But sometimes….sometimes you want something more.

And then Abby called.

The tourism bureau of Orlando is hosting a contest in which a team of 2 people are given a phone, camera, various interweb sites such as twitter and myspace and 67 days of Adventure.

Adventure.

I missed that word.

And so we discussed our options and decided to apply.

We’re perfect. I mean, c’mon. We got through Europe without harming a hair on our heads. (well….damn it)  and many a tale to tell–we want Orlando to be our next Great Adventure. (Great Adventures should always be capitalized).
So through illness, vacation and horrendous timing, we’ve managed to scrape together an essay and submission video.
Competition looks stiff–on youtube there are loads of great videos from people who want this as much as we do.
But….
I don’t think so. Granted, I don’t know the life stories of all of the contestants, but this is something….this is something my soul needs.
Not that I’m terribly tragic, but England was something that we counted down to from the 280’s. And to have it cut short under such—well, shitty, circumstances….
It was hard. And honestly? I haven’t recovered.

I still think about the Milton House—the way the doors would slam shut and that mark on the lawn from where I skidded out after a rainstorm and irreversibly stained my favorite pants. The crazy nights out and that stupid, stupid gate and the day we discovered the Fish Market. Everything has a memory attached and everything plays like movies in my mind when I start thinking on it—The walk through the wooded street with its named cottages and the subdivision they were building in the old school–the Intersection of Death, and my bike, that I was so proud of, still permanently parked in the bushes outside of Milton…the Shortbread Guy (oh Shortbread Guy if you’re out there…) the thrift stores and just…everything.
There was a moment, right before I left that I will always remember. It wasn’t a particularly unique moment or even that exciting– I had just gotten done making the difficult decision that I would get rid of my hair in order to make sure that I would be able to see my dad at Christmas (cue bitter irony)….I had stayed up all night debating and I knew that it was a now or never moment, so I grabbed my stuff out of the 24 hour computer lab and hopped that STUPID fence and made my way into town. It was still early, and since it was November the sky was barely light–I watched the sun rise from the clock tower benches while I drank hot cocoa and then went around town trying to get my hair taken care of. On the way home I bought a hat from a street vendor and stopped for some shortbread from my Shortbread Guy.  It was serene and quiet. That mile walk, so routinely repeated over the course of my stay became a reflection of everything beautiful, everything wonderful about England.  I know I’ll never forget the way that morning smelled—crisp and clean, faint hints of truck diesel and coffee and the echoes of steel bars and cursing fromthe the street vendors settting up shop while the sun rose—it was those private beautiful moments that I miss–and losing them and losing my dad at the same time left a hole. I didn’t get to say goodbye. I didn’t get to complete my adventure.
I’ve tried to fill it with other things, other alternatives and solutions—but nothing has come close to experienceing them and that feeling of adventure–having the world at my fingertips (if I could scrape together the pounds).
I want just one more adventure.
I need it.
I need it with all my soul.
So here’s hoping.