It’s Never Too Late for Adventure

October 4, 2026

Maybe the first adventure is finding the courage to go.

I’ve spent a lot of my life wanting to have adventures.

Not necessarily wild, daredevil adventures. I’m talking about seeing places I’ve never seen. Getting in the car and driving somewhere simply because I’ve always wondered what was there. Taking a trip I’ve thought about for years. Exploring a new town. Seeing a part of the country—or the world—that until now has only been a picture on a screen.

I’ve wanted to do those things.

But far too often, I’ve waited.

I’ve waited for someone to go with me.

And if I’m being completely truthful, I’m still waiting.

For years, I’ve allowed the fear of solo travel to become a perfectly reasonable excuse for not going. There was always another time. Maybe someone would want to go later. Maybe schedules would work out. Maybe the right opportunity would come along.

Someday.

Maybe adventure after 60 looks different than it did when I was younger, but that doesn't make it any less of an adventure.

I’m 62 now, and I’m beginning to realize that “someday” can be a dangerous word.

There comes a point when you have to acknowledge that time is passing whether you take the trip or not.

That’s where I am.

I wish I could tell you I’ve figured this out. That I packed a bag, jumped in the car, headed off alone and discovered that all my fears were ridiculous.

I haven’t.

I’m still trying to convince myself to go.

There’s something intimidating about it for me. Eating alone in a restaurant hundreds of miles from home. Checking into a hotel by myself. Driving unfamiliar roads without someone in the passenger seat. Seeing something incredible and not having someone beside me to turn to and say, “Would you look at that?”

Those things are real to me.

But lately another fear has started competing with the fear of going alone.

The fear of never going at all.

And I think that one scares me more.

I don't want to wake up at 72 and realize I spent another ten years waiting for somebody else to be ready to live a part of my life with me.

I don’t want to keep looking at places on a map and thinking, I’ve always wanted to go there.

At some point, I actually need to go there.

Maybe courage doesn't mean that I suddenly become comfortable with traveling alone.

Maybe courage is being uncomfortable and going anyway.

That’s the part I’m working on.

I’m trying to remind myself that being alone doesn’t automatically mean being lonely. A table for one isn't something to be embarrassed about. There’s nothing sad about exploring somewhere by yourself. And perhaps being alone occasionally creates opportunities we miss when we're traveling with someone else.

You decide where to stop.

You decide how long to stay.

You change direction because something catches your attention.

You talk to strangers.

You discover what interests you when nobody else's preferences are part of the decision.

And maybe, somewhere along that road, you discover something about yourself too.

I’m not there yet.

But I’m getting closer.

At 62, I’m beginning to understand that there may never be a perfect time. There may never be somebody available for every adventure I want to have. And if I make having a companion a requirement for going, I may be robbing myself of experiences I still desperately want.

That's not how I want to live the rest of my life.

So maybe this article isn't really advice for anyone else.

Maybe I'm writing it to myself.

Maybe I need these words staring back at me the next time I think about a trip and immediately start wondering who might go with me.

Just go.

Be nervous.

Feel awkward.

Wonder if you're crazy.

Pack the bag anyway.

I haven't done it yet.

But I think I'm getting ready.

Because at 62, the question is becoming less about whether I’m afraid to go alone and more about something much bigger: