The Happiness Of Pursuit Part 15

As you gain confidence, "I can do this!" becomes "What else can I do?"

Over and over again, the people I talked to said that their quest had inspired an even greater vision for their next project. Steve Kamb, who redesigned his life to follow the pattern of a video game, said that he'd never felt stronger or more powerful.

Until I was twenty-six I remained stuck on the couch, playing games in which my character would level up in order to explore foreign lands that were unsafe or inaccessible at a lower level. But now I'm doing that in real life! I'm the character who is growing in strength and wisdom.

Steve's strength and wisdom came through getting off the couch and making a game of his life-with much higher stakes than he'd found in front of the TV or computer monitor. He continued to level up, taking on greater challenges and feeling firmly in control of his future.

Remember Pursuing a quest can boost your confidence and establish your independence.

Those who pursue quests find themselves focusing more and expanding their vision as they go along.

"I'm glad I did it" was the most common statement from people who'd completed a quest.

1As a vegetarian, I don't even eat peri-peri chicken-the featured menu item at Nando's. I do, however, recommend their veggie burgers.

2This quote from John comes from a profile in the Atlantic. Other quotes come from his memoir Planetwalker or my email interviews with him.

Dispatch

COMMUNITY.

Every traveler has at least one story of unexpected hospitality or generosity that exceeded all a.s.sumptions. As I roamed the world, I collected a legion of these lessons in kindness. For every taxi driver who tried to rip me off, there was another who undercharged. Getting lost everywhere I went, yet always finding my way back-in some ways it was a testament to independence, but in others it spoke to the inherent good nature of people everywhere. These good Samaritans would break off from whatever they were doing to point the way to the main road, or sometimes even bring me back to my guesthouse with a smile. Stubborn as I was about doing things my own way, I came to rely on the kindness of strangers on every continent.

In Croatia I stayed with a host family who translated the local reality TV shows for my benefit. In Kuwait I was hosted by Haider Al-Mosawi, a local blogger who'd written me in advance to say he was a "Kuwaiti nonconformist" and wanted to show me around.

Even in places with a reputation for danger or hostility, I was almost always treated as a welcome guest. In Somaliland, the airport was three hours by b.u.mpy road from the main city. Despite my protests, I was given the seat of honor in the crowded minibus, right up front with the driver. In Libya, just before the country fell into the revolution that toppled Muammar Gaddafi, my hosts carefully led me around Tripoli, pointing out Islamic architecture and making guarded comments about the dictatorship that held most of the country in its grip. When we stopped for coffee, they refused to let me pay.

In the Comoros, a small island nation off the coast of southern Africa, I found myself completely out of cash. I'd made numerous mistakes in letting such a thing happen, from underestimating the cost of the visa I had to purchase upon arrival to overestimating the odds of ATMs being available. Simply put, I didn't have enough money, so the immigration officer held on to my pa.s.sport. She agreed I could visit the country and stay two nights, but to reclaim my pa.s.sport and get off the island, I'd need to pay up. On the morning of departure I still didn't have the money, and I was stressed.

I tried everything I could think of, including a mad dash across the island to visit the only working ATM-which didn't work.

In the end I was saved, not by my own ingenuity but by the providential appearance of a stranger who loaned me money. In exchange for his trust I gave him all the funds I had left (about $30 composed of several different currencies), a copy of a book I'd written ("This is me!"), and a promise to somehow pay him back. He gave me $60 in local currency, reclaimed my pa.s.sport, and waved me off.

Over and over throughout the journey, I learned and relearned an important lesson of humanity. When I'd first gone abroad, originally on a summer trip to China, I returned with a perspective typical of the bedazzled novice traveler: "People everywhere are the same!"

But as I learned with more experience, that wasn't the case at all. Sure, the wide swath of humanity has a few things in common: No matter where you go, most parents love their children, and most people want to be happy in their own way. Otherwise, though, it shouldn't be surprising that different cultures produce widely different practices and belief structures-and it's this very fact that makes travel and exploration so intoxicating. Touring the Buddhist temples of Bhutan, a small Asian nation that welcomes far fewer tourists than its neighbors India and Nepal ... visiting the Great Mosque at sunset in the old city of Damascus ... hopping an overnight train to Tbilisi, Georgia, and talking with a fellow traveler from another foreign land-instead of evaluating how they stacked up against my own preconceptions and preferences, I came to appreciate the differences on their own merit.

As I approached the end of my quest, I tried to pay more attention to my surroundings. Though having a goal was important-I believed in the list!-the quest was never about conquering an arbitrary grouping of countries. It was about challenging myself to pursue a big goal, and allowing myself to change as I went along.

Chapter 16.

Homecomings

Home is where you go when you run out of homes.

-JOHN LE CARRe Lesson: MAKE A PLAN FOR THE NEXT STEP.

In the anthology Once Upon a Galaxy, science fiction author Josepha Sherman chronicles the long history of ancient stories and shows how they serve as models for modern-day fables. As we've seen in this book, very different quests tend to have a number of things in common. In the ancient stories there is often a search for a mythical object (a sacred necklace, a holy grail), or a need to reclaim something that has been stolen. A "wise old man" figure who foresees tests and trials for the brave adventurer often offers guidance. The hero is joined by friends and allies, some of whom may have their own agendas.1 Other figures creep up again and again in different stories. Babies destined for greatness are rescued from small boats or boxes (Moses, Superman). The world of nature has its share of mythical creatures (eagles, horses, spiders). Rings are often objects of power and magic. ("One ring to rule them all.") But then something unusual happens-and it's not the "big surprise" we've come to expect. In story after story, we hear of great adventures. And then, all of a sudden, the stories end with a fizzle, grinding to a halt without much explanation.

The cla.s.sic story of Jason and the Argonauts is typical. Jason is born a prince, but is then s.n.a.t.c.hed away in the middle of the night as a baby. He grows up in a foreign land, unaware of his birthright. Fortunately, his tutor is a wise-old-man figure who raises him right, giving him the news of his true ident.i.ty once he reaches adulthood. Jason then sets out to reclaim his throne, confronting the king who'd pushed aside Jason's father.

The king is as wise as Jason is ambitious, so in a cla.s.sic old-school stalling tactic, he sends Jason away on a dangerous quest. "Go and recapture the Golden Fleece!" he orders, not mentioning the part about the monster responsible for guarding the treasure, which conveniently never sleeps.

The evidence will show that Jason is especially brave or foolhardy, depending on your view of monsters guarding fleeces. He dutifully gathers a team of heroes, builds the strongest ship that has ever sailed the treacherous Mediterranean waters, and sets out in search of the fleece.

But then! Trouble strikes along the path. The adventurers are waylaid time and again. On an island filled with murderous women they're nearly entrapped, but they get away in the nick of time. On another island the inhabitants are being tormented by giants, and Jason's crew are the only ones who can fend them off. A third stop brings winged creatures that attack from the sky. Then there are the magical rocks that smash together whenever a ship tries to pa.s.s through, and ... on and on.

In this manner Jason and the Argonauts sail and struggle through a dozen years of trial and tribulation. Finally, they reach their destination. This is it! But even then they're tested. There's a herd of fire-breathing bulls that have to be yoked, a set of dragon's teeth that must be obtained, and a bunch of warriors that spring from the ground that must be defeated. With some help from a new girlfriend, Jason finally completes all the necessary tasks. Escaping in the dead of night with the fleece and the girlfriend, Jason and his fellow Argonauts set sail for home. They've done it!

But then what? What happens after all this effort? What happened to the throne that Jason was looking to reclaim?

Josepha Sherman tells the story as it has been recorded in history, with different variations but the same common ending: "Many more adventures awaited Jason. While some of those adventures were heroic, others were tragic. But the future was the future."

That's it? "The future was the future?"

Indeed, that's all we get.

It's easy to feel let down after so much effort ... but that's how it works. Quests don't always tie up well.

The World Is Saved ... Somehow

This pattern is not confined to stories of old. Video games and movies often exhibit the same abrupt endings. For research purposes in my early twenties, I devoted hundreds of hours to the study of video games. Much of the research was spent camped out with friends in my living room, dutifully shooting on-screen characters in the head with a sniper rifle, but many other hours were spent in solitary study. With only a large supply of Diet c.o.ke and the occasional Krispy Kreme donut for nourishment,2 I plodded through dungeons and sped across entire galaxies seeking to rescue a civilization or find my character's original self.

Even for research purposes, you don't invest twenty to thirty hours in a game that sucks. The best games keep users challenged and entertained through a long series of levels, quests, and animation scenes that move the story forward.

But you know what? Even the best games often have bad endings. My friends and I would often make a marathon effort to complete the latest game, and while the journey was enthralling, the ending was a letdown. Sometimes I'd call my brother Ken after completing a game he'd already beaten. "That was awesome!" we'd both say. "But the ending"-we agreed-"was weird."

It was as if, after creating a great story and bringing the character through trials and tribulations, the game's designers had suddenly thrown up their hands in resignation. "We don't know what happens in the end! Our job was to keep the story going!" they seemed to be saying.

Is this principle at work in modern-day quests as well? Indeed-sometimes it is.

"What's It Like?"

Over seven long days in 2009, and then again in 2010 and 2012, Meghan Hicks ran the Marathon des Sables, a 150-mile race in the Sahara Desert. Every year at least eight hundred runners descend on Morocco for this race, and as Meghan puts it, everyone who attempts it is a little strange-but some are stranger than others.

Meghan was an experienced runner who knew what she was getting into. She was the kind of runner whose biggest problem was overtraining. She loved being on the trails of her native Utah and had constructed a lifestyle that allowed her to be outside as often as possible. To maintain her intense training schedule in the winter months, she actually created a makeshift sauna in her house. The sauna effect was achieved by first installing a heater in the bathroom then turning on the hot water in the shower. She squeezed a stationary bike between the sink and toilet for her workouts.

Despite all of Meghan's training for the 2012 event, and despite having done it before, the moment of setting out that first morning in the Sahara was a shock to her senses. Every day for the next week Meghan struggled through the sand, dreaming of the dehydrated green beans that would await her at day's end. (When you're malnourished and dehydrated, running dozens of miles through the desert, apparently they're a great snack.) As tough as it was, Meghan eventually acclimated to the routine of mile after mile in the sand, and surged to the head of the pack. She would have found a kindred spirit in Nate Damm, who said that walking across America was "pretty simple" because all he had to do was put one foot in front of the other. In Meghan's case, she had to do that in 100F heat in the middle of the desert. She finished her 2012 race in fifth place among women and placed forty-seventh overall. It was a huge victory.

And then she came home. Everyone asked the big question, "What was it like?"

Some really wanted to know, but others were just being polite. Here's what Meghan had to say: They ask a complex question, but seek a one-sentence answer. It's akin to inquiring, "In seven words or less, describe your relationship with G.o.d." So you say, "The race was wonderful" and "I loved it" and "It's an experience I hope I don't forget." These statements are true but they toss a fuzzy, feel-good blanket over the whole Sahara Desert. There is no short answer for that question.

When you've given everything you have in pursuit of something great, it's hard to toss off a few quick sentences on "what it's like."

Coming home from Norway, I felt a lot like Meghan. "What's it like to visit every country in the world?" I was asked.

People have the expectation that you're now very wise, that you've somehow acquired the knowledge of a thousand civilizations merely by pa.s.sing through as a sojourner. They expect you to return with a sense of altered perspective and something profound to share.

Conquering planet Earth as a modern explorer is amazing. But coming to the end of such a quest is also complicated.

"Going to every country in the world" had been my ident.i.ty for a long time. Even as I pursued other goals, the quest served as an important anchor. As I evaluated upcoming plans at the end of the year, I always considered them against the need to visit a dozen or more new countries. I knew I'd still be traveling after the quest was complete, but not with the same imperative. I was free to choose ... and freedom seemed overwhelming.

Like Meghan Hicks in her post-Sahara experience, I had to deal with two big challenges: the public aspect of it and the inner aspect. For the public aspect, I eventually stumbled on a clear answer: Don't try to explain everything, but do tell a few good stories. For the private aspect, I learned to reflect-and also to consider the future.

Part One: Focus on the Stories.

After my journey was over, I went on a number of radio shows where the host inevitably began with at least one false or misleading statement. "Chris has been to more than three hundred countries!" (Uh, there aren't that many.) "Chris is the first person in the world to ever do this!" (Not true.) "Chris is only twenty-five years old!" (I wish.) Then, after a long lead-up to gain the audience's rapt attention, the questioning would begin. "So what was it like, Chris?"

Yeah ... what was it like? No pressure.

Like Meghan, I didn't know how to answer. "It was amazing," I said, knowing how trite it sounded. "It was a dream come true" ... which it was, but that sounded dumb, too.

I usually fumbled along for a while before finding an answer. During one of the shows, an experienced interviewer reminded me that I didn't have to sum up 193 countries and ten years of travel in a few sentences. "Just tell us a story or two," he said.

That's right-those stories. I remember now. Remember just a few months ago, I told myself, when you spent the night on the floor of the Dakar airport? The situation was comically awful, but you got through it and made it to the final country.

Remember walking on the beach at midnight in Sri Lanka, the one hundredth country?

Remember that guy in Comoros who rescued me, loaning money to a stranger?

Remember those sunsets ... those moments of wonder ... the challenge, the process, the waiting? That's right-that's what it was about. When in doubt, come back to the stories.

Part Two: Process and Reflect.

Miranda Gibson had lived in a tree for more than a year. When she left, she was overwhelmed. She wrote on her blog: Over the past few weeks I've tried many times to write to let you know what this has been like-getting down, adjusting to the world on the ground. But every time I sit down to write I don't know what to say. It is so overwhelming-everything that has taken place and all I have thought and felt these past few months. It felt impossible to know where to start. Today I have told you the story of my feet touching the ground, but now that I've started writing there are so many more stories that want to come tumbling out: of the fire, my last day in the tree, my first day in a house!

Around the same time, Alicia Ostarello went home to California after visiting forty-eight of the fifty states on her "adventures in dating" tour. She still had to fly to Hawaii and Alaska, but she was nearly at the end. For the first time in months, she didn't have a goal for the next day. Not only that, but having given up her apartment to pursue the cross-country project, she no longer had a place to live. She had friends with couches and a bed at her parents' home thirty miles away, but those solutions felt like a step backward. She'd come all this way! She'd learned so much! And now she sat in her car-oddly the most familiar environment to her after months of driving-and tried not to cry.

In the cla.s.sic children's book The Phantom Tollbooth, the main character Milo and his helpful friends are waylaid by a tall, thin man who a.s.signs them mundane, tedious tasks. Being an agreeable sort, Milo acquiesces, only to discover that the tall man is actually the devil, who delights in pulling people off their chosen paths.

Alicia thought of this story after she jumped into a new job as a production a.s.sistant in the events industry, a challenging role that required ten-hour days and a lot of focus. It was a great job for someone with abundant energy to invest in a new career, but not ideal for someone coming off an extended trip around the country in search of herself. She felt like Milo. She'd been diverted, and the busy days at work prevented her from processing the intense experience she'd just been through. The whole experience felt weird and incomplete.

Lesson: Don't forget to debrief. You may need another goal at some point, but be careful to process before jumping back into the grind.

Part Three: Find the Next Quest!

If a quest or adventure has kept you enthralled for years, but has now come to an end in a blaze of glory (or even a blaze of calm), sooner or later you'll need a new project. As Alicia learned, you might not want to jump into something else right away, but you also shouldn't wait too long.

Scott Young devoted a full year to mastering the four-year MIT computer science curriculum. When he finished, he worked on other projects for a while, but found he missed the daily aspect of making progress toward a big goal. Even though his routine contained little variation during the year of studying, he found it challenging and stimulating. He decided to try a similar approach with something else: This time, he'd spend a year learning several languages. As a twist (there's always a twist) he wouldn't speak English at all during the year. Before he could talk himself out of this big new goal, he boarded a flight for Valencia despite not speaking Spanish. When he disembarked he would speak only Spanish and any other language besides English. An entire year not speaking your native language-is that a quest? It certainly sounds like a big challenge.

Woe Is Me, All Is Lost, etc.

In an early scene from The Shawshank Redemption, Brooks Hatlen is released from prison after being locked up for fifty years. He then hangs himself, unable to cope with life on the outside.

Writing more than 160 years ago, John Stuart Mill reflected on the fleeting sense of happiness.

"Suppose that all your objects in life were realized; that all the changes in inst.i.tutions and opinions which you are looking forward to, could be completely effected at this very instant: would this be a great joy and happiness to you?" And an irrepressible self-consciousness distinctly answered, "No!" At this my heart sank within me: the whole foundation on which my life was constructed fell down. All my happiness was to have been found in the continual pursuit of this end. The end had ceased to charm, and how could there ever again be any interest in the means? I seemed to have nothing left to live for.

Well, that sounds a bit depressing. Nothing left to live for? Hanging yourself after being released from prison?