A Grand Adeventure

My cousin walked into the wilderness the other night, shunning society and all of its comforts and conveniences, leaving her family and friends behind.

OK, it wasn't quite as dramatic as all that. She didn't really disappear into the woods...she got on a bus. And she didn't go off alone, per se...there were fifty-some other kids who decided to embark on the same journey. Alycia took part in a Voyageurs trip, a month-long adventure into the wilds of Canada. She was going to spend the next month canoeing across lakes and hiking through forests, learning about teamwork and commitment, about endurance and survival.

The kids and I were invited to her Last Supper, a gathering for family and friends to bid their Voyageur farewell, to see them receive their Voyageur necklaces and t-shirts, to marvel over the paddles they'd decorated -- paddles they would use to navigate the lakes and rivers in the waters that straddled northern Minnesota and southern Canada -- and to reflect on all that this journey would entail.

As I watched her pose for pictures and chat with family and friends, I thought back to when I was her age. Seventeen, the summer before my senior year. Would I have done what she was about to do? No. Why not? My choice would have been dictated by a lot of reasons but, if I was honest with myself, the dominant reason that would have sealed my decision would have been fear.

Fear of what lurked in those woods and lakes and fear of the feelings and actions of the people I was surrounding myself. Most importantly, though, was the fear of the feelings I would harbor within. Would I be homesick and miserable the entire time? Would I be resentful of people not pulling their weight....or ashamed that people were thinking those thoughts about me? Would I be rejoicing at the beauty and splendor of the wilderness that surrounded me? Would the experience be so moving, so profound that it changed the very essence of who I was? I wouldn't know...because I was too afraid to find out.

I asked Alycia how she was feeling. Nervous and excited, she said. Not afraid. That word never crossed her lips and this amazed me. It inspired me. If she was afraid, she wasn't going to admit it. And if she wasn't - well, she was braver than I was at her age. Probably braver than I am now.

Family and friends were encouraged to pen a letter to their departing Voyageur. These would be carried by their adult guides and given to the kids at some midpoint in their travels. What follows is the letter I wrote to Alycia.

Dear Alycia,

So, I'm sitting here trying to think of something fabulously wise or witty to say to you. And I'm coming up with...nothing. I don't have advice for someone who has voluntarily chosen to rough it in the wilderness for 3+ weeks, turned her back on the comforts of society, and willingly abandoned the familiarity of home and family. Not because I'm not amazed by this – on the contrary, I am in awe – but because I don't have anything in my history to compare it to, nothing to measure it against, to say “Oh, well when I did that when I was your age, this is how it made me feel.” Nothing.

I imagine right now , as you read this, that you are probably lounging against the back of a tree. The rough bark is digging into your back as you seek shade from a relentless summer sun, swatting at mosquitoes as you methodically work your way through the stack of letters you've been handed. Some of those letters will be funny, some will be filled with words of encouragement and love. All of them will be from people who love you, who are filled with admiration and pride as they think of the adventure you are on, this journey you chose for yourself. All of them will be from people who, in some small way or another, wish it was them on the journey, too. People who wish they had the time, the money, the youth, and most importantly, the courage, to do what you're doing.

I can't profess to know the reasons why you chose to go or what you might take away from this experience. I do know, however, that it will be profound. You will come back a changed person – more grown-up, perhaps, more resolved or adventurous, more determined or courageous – or maybe all of those things. You will be morphing into the Alycia you are destined to be, the Alycia that is growing, evolving. You will be adding pieces to the puzzle that will, ultimately, encompass all of who you are. Y ou should be proud.

I know I am.

Safe travels, Alycia. I'm thinking of you every day. And I'm not afraid.