I would never have thought to put those two together: bacon...and an adventure? When I think of bacon, there are frying pans involved, greasy paper towels, and the sense of expectation that usually accompanies Sunday morning celebrations at home. But if Samwise Gamgee has taught me anything, it is that you can bring frying pans along on any adventure. But what is an adventure?
I experienced last summer what it meant to have neither. On a three-week dig in the Promised Land, I doggedly burrowed my way through each day with the promise of neither bacon nor an adventure. Ironically, that is precisely what I had come to Israel for--an adventure, not bacon (I've never been much of a bacon fan.) I had already learned last summer that archaeology was not the roaring, fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants experience that Indiana Jones had promised. So what was I doing on another dig? I still don't know. I think I just wanted to travel. I have always associated adventure with travel, but somehow I expected that just being in Israel would be enough to outweigh the archaeological tedium. The most significant thing I learned last summer is that travel and adventure can sometimes be less related than bacon and adventure. Banished to the farthest corner of my area, I spent several days of that dig sifting through bucket after bucket of dirt in search of beads the size of a freckle. I was in Israel, yes, but I was also in exile.
The misery of that experience has left me with one truth: you need not go far to have an adventure. It has also left me with the title for this blog post. One of the most fun people digging in my area was Linzie, a gregarious, social glue of a woman. Her humor kept me greatly entertained and often kept me from directing my trowel at my wrists instead of at the dirt. One morning, in the wee hours before the sun had risen and we were already sweating, she announced to the area that she had had a dream in which she baldly stated that she needed bacon and an adventure. There was no reason for this proclamation in her dream...it simply was. And so that phrase became the motto for our area.
The current summer of 2009 has proven that truth right. Instead of embarking on another journey to the Middle East (or anywhere, for that matter) I stayed home and got a job. It's nothing fancy--I work the concession stand at the local movie theater. I live with my parents, and when I'm not working, I take care of my aging dog. This summer has been therapeutic more than anything. If I had traveled somewhere, I would most likely have done so to escape pain--it's not been the easiest of years for my family. Staying put has calmed me in a way I did not expect. I have been exposed to unimaginable depths of heartache, but with the help of my family, I have thus far come through each trial. My nose has been rubbed in decay. It still smells awful, but I can deal with it better. I am stronger than I thought.
I have had plenty of adventures right at home। There was the instance of the falling tree branch, for example. The perpetrator? A squirrel. Not to mention the time I shared a bowling lane with two amorous high schoolers who kept stealing my ball. So uncool. Shit almost went down. Anyway, the real adventure is living life in the moment. I've found that when I'm fully present to whatever situation I'm in, I gain so much more from that experience...and that experience rapidly becomes an adventure. My dig last summer was hell because I spent the whole time wishing I were home, and when I got home I spent the whole time wishing I had enjoyed Israel more. I was never fully satisfied with either place because I didn't take time to fully experience each place when I was there. So this summer I stayed home and learned what it means to be a contributing adult back at my parents' house. I, too, can bring home the bacon, which is closer to adventure than you might think.
