I spent years trying to be sensible. Reasonable. Likeable. And, just fit in. Now, forget all that. I just want to be interested.
With today's economy, I simply can't afford extravagant travel adventures anymore. Yet, sometimes I go stir crazy even when I have tons of on-going projects waiting and books to read.
So I made myself a promise: More adventures. But, Zero cost. And, full soul recharge. So, I put on my thinking cap, consulted my preschool grandchildren and created my secret adventure itinerary.
Have a look. Maybe you'll be inspired to try a few of these.
As for me?
These little escapades are free and absolutely glorious.
The 5 a.m. Bakery Heist
Set your alarm for 4:30 a.m. Drive to a bakery that opens at 5. Buy the first roll, donut or croissant while it is still steaming and let the smell ruin you for all future baked goods. Eat it while standing at the front window and watch the world wake up. Total time: 45 minutes. Souvenir: sticky fingertips and the memory of bread that actually tasted like joy.
Stranger’s Garden Tour
Walk a neighborhood you have never wandered. When you spot a garden that stops your heart (peonies the size of small planets, a koi pond, or a gnome army), leave a note that says, Thank you. Your yard made my whole week. Souvenir: a single petal or leaf pressed inside your journal like a secret.
Diner Archaeology
Find an old school diner and sit at the counter. Order coffee or tea. Pull out a notebook and list every object that feels like time travel. Salt shaker that has lived through nine presidencies. Napkin dispenser straight out of your teenage years. Souvenir: the paper placemat smuggled into your purse like evidence.
Library Speed Date
Go to the library at opening. In five minutes pick one book from a section you have never explored. Anything goes. Bonsai. Manga. Espionage. Read three random pages then repeat with one more. Souvenir: two new subjects now stored in your brain.
Cemetery Picnic
Pack a thermos of tea and one perfect apple. Find an old sunny cemetery. Sit beneath a tree older than your childhood stories. Read the headstones like short memoirs. Souvenir: a blade of grass tucked into your journal. Proof you spent time with souls who once had dreams too.
Stairwell Concert
Walk into the stairwell of a tall downtown building. Play a favorite song and sing one verse like you are on tour. Loud enough to feel it. Soft enough for plausible denial if someone walks in. Souvenir: the echo in your ears and the smile that refuses to leave your face.
Abandoned Lot Photo Shoot
Find an empty alley or warehouse dock. Pretend you are scouting locations for a film. Lower the phone and take photos from the height of a curious little dog. Souvenir: a photo that makes you look like a mysterious artist who absolutely knows things.
Midweek Matinee for One
Tuesday morning. Ten a.m. Show whatever movie is playing. Extra points if you are the only person there. Buy popcorn the size of your torso. Laugh or cry without holding back. Souvenir: the ticket stub tucked into your sunglasses case.
Bridge at Dusk Confession
Find a bridge over water at golden hour. Whisper one secret you have never said out loud. Let the wind carry it. Walk away lighter. Souvenir: wind tangled hair and a tiny surge of freedom.
Hardware Store Perfume
Wander the aisles. Touch everything. Smell cedar. Slip on work gloves. Rub a tiny drop of linseed oil on your wrists like perfume and walk out empty handed. You just went on a date with possibility. Souvenir: the scent of adventure clinging to your sleeves.
The 60+ super power
You no longer need your adventures to impress anyone. The croissant is not a post. It is a private sacrament. The headstone is not a photo op. It is a conversation with time. These moments belong only to you. Tiny and fierce declarations: I am still curious. I am still here. I still choose wonder.