There are very few firsts that I actually enjoy (among those are the first hot sip from a mug of tea, the first word written on a fresh sheet of paper, and the thrill of reading a book for the first time). For the most part, I relish the comfort of tradition and routine - especially of living where I already live (please, don't make me go through the process of looking for, acquiring, and then moving into a new home!), driving what I already drive (still have my first car that my grandparents bought me when I was 18), and seeing who I usually see (I make friends very slowly and a bit painfully, at times, although it is generally worth it). I like to be comfortable.
But that's combined with a weird streak of adventuresomeness. That works something like this: if I can research it first, then I'll do anything. A Hermione of sorts, my first impulse is to run to the library (or the internet, as the case may be). I love maps and timetables and histories and what-to-do-in-[city of your choice] guides and recommendations from friends - I think what it boils down to is an absolute terror of being surprised.
That keeps me from so many spontaneous opportunities, though - this fear of the unknown. It's part of the reason why my word for the year is adventure - because I'd like to be a true adventurer, bravely being the first to walk off the end of the map and discover, perhaps monsters, or perhaps hidden beauties previously undiscovered, and to plot them for those who follow after.
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