Why So Serious?

I was flicking through a newspaper to get to the back pages with the fun stuff — a Garfield comic — when I stumbled upon an article in which seven semi-famous people were asked, 'When was the last time you went camping, and would you do it again?' To be fair, the scientists, journalists, musician and even the priest who were asked are, as far as I know, all well over forty-five or even fifty, but their answers were still disappointingly similar: yes, they used to camp when they were younger, or at least tried it once, but the tents leaked, the mosquitoes were annoying, and there was no comfortable mattress to ensure a good night's sleep. Who would have thought, right? They all came to the same conclusion: they never want to experience it again. So I asked myself: 'why so serious, people?'.

It's probably what happens with age: we start to prioritise comfort over experience, safety becomes more valuable, and the exciting memories we've made in the past are enough for life.

Goddess (or whatever) forbid that I become like that. Ever. I want to travel, go on a spontaneous via ferrata in the Dolomites or the Tour de Mont Blanc, and apply for a random Ironman 70.3 just because my ego is currently thriving. I want to regret every decision I've made while the rain drips on my head in the tent, and postpone studying for my exams because there's a high possibility I'll simply die in the mountains.

(Fast forward 10 years and I'll be living a simple life in a simple house with a simple man and simple kids, a boring job, and an extremely exciting (not) two-week holiday in Croatia. Let's not jinx it. Please.)