How do I begin to articulate what is going through my mind as I quickly approach the completion of my New Zealand journey? The idea for this adventure was born when I was thirteen and even though it took ten years, the dream eventually transformed into a reality. So how do I describe such a big part of my life? I have spent days, no, weeks, trying to find the words to convey how incredible these last six months have been. I awoke today, on my penultimate morning in this wonderful country, determined to sit down and squash my writer’s block in one fell swoop. I found a beautiful spot outside in the shade, with the turquoise vibrancy of the Pacific in the distance as my muse, the singing birds as my musical backdrop. And nothing came…no powerful words to bookend my experience, no sudden inspiration of discovering how I wanted to sum it all up. After a solid half an hour of staring a blank document sandwiched between Facebook checks and ESPN updates, a word popped into my head. Finally, some creativity! Let’s get this writing train moving! Yet the word wasn’t some powerful articulation but rather the mother of all random ones, residing in that space between incredulity and insanity. Are you ready? Here it is: “Legos”.

       Uh, excuse me? What? Hang on, don’t stop reading yet. I can explain. Think of the biggest Lego set you’ve ever seen, with thousands upon thousands of different pieces, all varying in size, shape and color. With all the blocks sprawled out on the floor, you run your hand through the massive pile and it makes that sound…you know which one. It’s the sound of creativity, endless opportunity residing behind the sonic rustling of hard plastic. It’s time to start building; here we go! However, there is just a slight problem. Where are the directions? Where are those handy, overly simplified, step-by-step guides to putting the pieces in the perfect order until the set has transformed into a triumphant piece of creative ingenuity that borders on art? The rousing torrent of Lego-related excitement quickly transforms into confusion and disappointment. How can you begin to build the design without guidance? Is it possible to complete the process without a sense of direction?

       As I have spent the last few days in reflection, looking back on this six month completion of a childhood dream, I have attempted to put a definition on what I came to New Zealand to do, why I have lived out a backpack since last fall. I realized that there was a part of me that subconsciously came to the bottom of the world in attempt to “figure it out.” When I left Los Angeles on September 22nd, this was the plan: I would travel across New Zealand, delve inward, discover how to be the highest version of myself, find omnipresent happiness and the rest would be history. I would take my life and build the most incredible Lego set with its pieces. New Zealand was always going to be my packet of directions that showed me what to do, taught me what the next step of my life was going to be. By being here and going on my journey, I would figure it out, whatever “it” was. My New Zealand adventure was the key.

       It took me a few months to realize that a change of scenery, no matter how beautiful the landscape is, no matter how far away from home it might be, does not magically bring instant clarity and prolonged happiness. I kept wondering why I hadn’t popped yet, why being in New Zealand didn’t automatically make me joyful every minute of the day and why I felt like I was still searching for something. I’m living my dream, but why don’t I feel like I am? The days started to become more “fear-centric” and I would find things to worry about, start freaking out about how much money I had left and what I was supposed to do with the rest of my time in the country. But along the way, something happened, something changed. I couldn’t tell you when it transpired or where; there was no light bulb that switched on, no “eureka!” moment where everything clicked. However, I started to have consecutive days where I felt like “me”, at least that essence of satisfaction and wholeness that lives inside all of us. Those glorious days where I felt alive, empowered and ready to take on the world were happening more often than the darker ones. The days when I felt the happiest all shared a common denominator: I stopped trying to figure “it” out.

       Is it really that simple? Yes and no. On my travels, I have learned that those difficult days are part of it all; one day up, one day down, sometimes two days up and four days down. This is balance and how life will always be. But we deserve to have the bright days happen more than the dark ones, am I right? We owe it to ourselves. What if the power, the key, the MacGuffin lies behind a five letter word that isn’t “Legos”? That word is “Trust”.

       Trust is the answer, the solution, the victory. It’s the acceptance that life is a wandering river that flows down from the mountain, through twists, turns, rushing highs and violent lows, but ultimately moving across immeasurable beauty. Trust is letting it all go; it’s diving headfirst underneath the roaring wave of fear and believing that you will rise up and breathe fresh air on the other side. To trust is to surrender to whatever is supposed to happen and recognizing that it is happening for the highest good, no matter how paralyzing the fear of the unknown can be. It’s learning to embrace the uncertainty and accept “it” for what it is. I face a lot of ambiguity when I go back home, in regards to what the next step is in life. In many ways, I am in the same position now as when I left Los Angeles for New Zealand: where do I go from here? Where will I live, what will I do? Where is my packet of directions? What is the next piece to place on top of the other? But I feel more prepared now.

       If there is one thing I can take away from the last six months of adventure, it’s the recognition of how powerful it can be to embrace the uncertainty and actively allowing the fear to dissipate and eventually transform into trust. I believe that through trust, we can find liberation. And what can be better than absolute and pure inner freedom? It’s what each and everyone of us deserves.

       We are constantly experiencing new beginnings adding a new layer to our spirit, our being that uses the previous layer as a foundation. Life is a never-ending, always-exciting Lego set. But without those convenient, simplified directions, we provide ourselves with the perfect platform to grow. In many ways, I’ll always be on this journey; it is an adventure that will continue for a long time. I may not always be traveling, but I sure will be growing in some capacity and that is what this New Zealand experience has ultimately been about. Growth, transformation, learning, whatever you want to call it. One block placed on top of another. The past 187 days have helped me discover the importance of placing faith in the building process. It may not always be the most effortless thing to do, but why not make the construction of the magnificent Lego set that is our life a little easier on ourselves and trust. There is so much to look forward to, so much beauty to be found in just simply being along for the ride. With this concept as my guiding light, I’m ready to begin again. Are you?

       (Copyright 2013 ~ Jason Natzke)

        It started in the youth hostel kitchen around 7 o’clock, which can easily be considered cooking rush hour. Think 5:30 on a Friday night, heading south out of town on the interstate. It’s an “every man for himself” mentality on the road as drivers stop, go, stop again and do anything necessary to get home as quick as they can to start the weekend. It’s the same in a kitchen full of backpackers: everyone is hungry, everyone is on a budget and there are far more eager cooks than available hobs. It was all beginning to become too much: too many people, too many different smells that combined to form something rather unruly, too much clang and clatter of pots and pans. I had to get out. It seemed to take forever for my gluten-free spaghetti noodles to finish, which would end up being accompanied by slices of chicken, a dash of olive oil and the most important ingredient of all: salt. I bolted from the kitchen while undoubtedly going ten over the speed limit.

        It was one of those days where I felt myself deep inside my “cave”, as I like to call it. Truth be told, for yours truly, it sometimes takes a fair amount of energy to be traveling alone and it can be easy to slip into a state of reduced energy and an incessant lack of confidence. My cave is a place inside myself where I find it far more comfortable to close myself off to any emotional connections that might come my way. I get lonely, I start to feel my confidence slide downhill and I judge myself for it, which makes it even worse and then the walls come up. It’s just me in the cave, alone, lamenting my loneliness yet too insecure to do something about it and too content to wallow in self doubt. It’s a dark and slimy place to be, but it sure is familiar, so why leave?

        With my bowl of (rather bland) gluten-free spaghetti, I found a spot tucked away from the dining area, where I didn’t have to worry about stepping out of the cave. I looked around at other travelers who started the evening as strangers, moved to acquaintances and eventually became friends. The interrogation of self-judgment soon began, like a good-cop/bad-cop routine out of an episode of NYPD Blue (remember that show?). Why can’t I make connections like that? Why is it so difficult to open my heart when it was so easy to do the day before? What the hell is wrong with me? Why don’t I feel like ME?

        ”May I join you?” The words startled me and I take my eyes away from NFL.com. Oh no…someone has just found me at the bottom of the cave and it just happens to be a very attractive woman with a British accent. What was I supposed to say? “Oh, I’m sorry but I currently lack the confidence to make any type of connection that requires me to step out of my comfort zone and I would rather sit here and read another damn article about how talented, intelligent, good-looking and downright amazing Tom Brady is while I drown in a frigid pool of self doubt.” I obliged of course and shifted uncomfortably, already planning my exit strategy. She introduced herself, sat down next to me with a cup of tea and offered me a rice cracker. With an enchanting smile, she told me they were gluten-free. A tiny sliver of light flickered down into the cave.

        Soon enough, I felt my internal walls of protection come crumbling down, straight out of that scene from Inception. She was an up-and-coming theatre actress back in London and was on the trail of adventure alone, just like me. The conversation flowed like rainfall down a mountain. For hours, long after the sun allowed the moon to take center stage, no stone was left unturned as an intimate and honest, strictly emotional yet quite powerful connection was made. Two human beings, two souls finding comfort in captivating conversation, enjoying the inspiration that stems from similar trains of thought, kind words of encouragement and the warm glow of mutual respect for art and the creative process, the passion for travel and the enthusiasm for life itself. By the time we thanked each other for the experience, exchanged contact information and retired separately for the night, the ascension was complete. The cave had disappeared from the map, buried, unmarked and unneeded.

        With this memorable connection came the beginnings of a powerful realization. The journey down into the cave, into that place where I don’t need to open my heart, is a result of fear, fear of what a connection might mean. Why open up when I could just get hurt; why make an emotional attachment when it will probably end in a few hours? To open ourselves to communication and connection is to risk, but how would we be able to experience the beauty of spontaneous human connection without summoning the courage to climb out of the cave? In order to make our way towards the light and eventually dance in it, we must first decide to move through the darkness, no matter how intimidating it might be. Before we experience the beauty of emotion, the transcendence of human connection, we must give ourselves permission to experience it in the first place. I sat in bed and shook my head at the simplicity of it all: it begins and ends with vulnerability.

        The next morning, I found myself in the hostel kitchen once again. The morning traffic jam gives the evening congestion a run for its money. Hungry backpackers are replaced by ones that are hungry AND groggy, a lethal combination. The place was packed once again. I stood by the toaster as I felt my protective fortifications start to rise. But I was suddenly given a choice. I could shrink again, slither back down into my cave and begin the dark process of isolation and self-judgment all over again. Or, I could open my heart, embrace the risk that comes with taking the leap to communicate with a stranger, collapse my barriers and possibly make the connection of a lifetime. We never know what will exactly come from vulnerability, but I am beginning to think that I’d rather take my chances. The only way out of the cave is up and sometimes all it takes is an act of courage and the kindness of stranger to help us discover the rope. What choice will you make?

 (Copyright 2013 ~ Jason Natzke)

        In the words of John Lennon, “so this is Christmas.” It’s Christmas Day here in New Zealand and instead of enduring single digit temperatures, I feel incredibly lucky to have been hiking all day in the hot summer sun. I still haven’t gotten used to this whole Southern Hemisphere thing, as with each increasingly warm day and a cheery exchange of “Merry Christmas” I hear, a series of internal alarm bells sound off, citing the fact that I should be wrapped up in a blanket by the fireplace, surrounded by the warm glow of the Christmas tree lights as I watch snow dance around the lamppost outside. It certainly feels a little different to be experiencing this wonderful day during the summer months of a foreign country, but I wouldn’t change anything. I know that I am exactly where I am supposed to be right now: on a grand adventure.

        Each incredible morning I wake up to seems to be even better than the one that proceeded it. For the next five weeks, I have settled in the tiny town of Wanaka, a quiet little place that sits on the edge of a stunning freshwater lake, surrounded by panoramic views of snow-capped peaks. It really is a slice of paradise, as I can go from swimming in the crystal clear lake to a dense forest of pine trees to the local movie theater in a matter of minutes. What more could I ask for? As I currently listen to the sweet symphony of rustling pine trees in the warm breeze, I can’t help but feel as I have been given an amazing gift this holiday season.

        I’ll ask you to humor me for a moment. It’s Christmas morning and you’re seven years old again. You rush down the stairs in your Spider-man onesie fleece pajamas (or the superhero of your choice, of course), slide across the hardwood floors in your socks, directly into the living room, where countless presents sit beneath the tree. Each one is wrapped in the most immaculate way, as if it had just come off of the assembly line in the North Pole. Your eyes immediately make their way to the box that looks big enough for you to fit into. This one clearly outshines all of others. What could possibly be inside? The smell of bacon floats its way from the kitchen to your nostrils and after waiting for what feels like an eternity, the time to unwrap has finally commenced.

        With your adoring parents for an audience, you make your way through the line of gifts and receive exactly what was on your list that year. You were certainly on the “nice” list and Santa seemed to take notice. Basking in the loving glow of gratitude and euphoria, the time has come to open the big mystery box. You feverishly tear off the wrapping paper, rip open the box and look inside…and it’s empty. In confusion, you crawl inside, thinking that the gift is hiding somewhere at the bottom of the box. Are you crushed; your Christmas morning ruined by the mother of all letdowns?

        A piercing flash of white light and the current, December 25, 2012 version of you is standing at the base of that same Christmas tree, superhero pajamas or not. The big box remains unwrapped and ready to be opened. Hoping to avoid the same bitter disappointment and confusion as the seven year old, you cautiously peel off the paper. There has to be something inside this time. The anticipation reaches its boiling point and you peer inside, only to be greeted by the same view as the young child: emptiness.

        Are you still disappointed? Don’t worry, I’d be kind of upset too. But what if the real present lies behind in the simplicity of it all? What if the best gift you could receive this holiday season is a big empty box, with nothing but air inside? The truth is, over the last few weeks, I have begun to realize that I came to New Zealand in search of something I couldn’t really define. Whether I was aware of it or not, when I boarded that long, trans-pacific flight from LAX to Auckland, a part of me was going on an adventure to find something. While the object of this search is still evolving each and every day, I am beginning to discover some clarity. I am starting to find freedom in the unknown, internal liberation from fear and a new state of inner harmony that ultimately leads to a feeling of compete serenity. I don’t know if I’ve ever felt as grounded, as peaceful as I do now. It’s as if each day is a celebration of this new state of being and I am beyond grateful. There is still room for growth and learning, many more peaks and valleys to experience. This will always be the case. But I am beginning to find that this feeling of fulfillment has been living inside of me all along; it’s always been there. New Zealand hasn’t necessarily brought it out of me, but rather served as a mirror and allowed me to discover something extraordinary about myself.

        Humor me one last time. It’s Christmas morning once again and it’s a perfect one, the morning of your dreams. It’s all there: the crackling fireplace, the gently falling snow, the beautiful family and if you’re me, the Spider-man onesie. You receive everything you wanted that year and then some. The big mystery box is back and it’s time to open it once again. This can’t be yet another disappointment, can it? You annihilate the wrapping paper in excitement, open the box and Christmas morning is launched into the stratosphere. You are the one in the box: your beautiful essence, your loving being, your encouraging soul, your unquantifiable light. You are the gift. The gift of nothing certainly is something…what we need in life to feel complete really isn’t anything at all, at least nothing we could define with a material object. Everything we really need resides within. So go ahead, give yourself the greatest gift of all on this Christmas morning, the one that you most certainly deserve: embrace your own individual light and celebrate the fact that the key to fulfillment and serenity already lives inside all of us. All we have to do is remember to look in the mirror. Merry Christmas!

       It has taken me a few days to come to terms with what has transpired in Newtown, Connecticut and even now, I can barely find the words to articulate this heartbreaking nightmare.  Even in beautiful New Zealand, I have felt unable to escape the pain.  Sometimes, I feel as if there is something putting immense pressure on my heart and begging for it to collapse under the weight of the darkness.  It’s a feeling of hopelessness, as if the darkness is too much to handle.  I felt it on July 20th in my hometown of Aurora, CO and I have felt sickened to be experiencing it again these last few days.  As a nation and society, we have been through this too many times, especially recently.  Enough is enough and something has to be done.  Whatever you believe in regards to gun control, we must be careful not to channel our anger and frustration and allow it lead to us into a place of disconnect and division.

        There is no easy or correct way to deal with tragedies of this magnitude, no “how-to” guide.  How could there be?  Perhaps the only way to counter the darkness is to shine our light as individuals and allow it to collectively build.  One hundred lights are much more powerful than just one, but one light is how it all begins.  Shine your light by turning it into love and make the effort to share it with the world.  Share love in whichever way you are most comfortable with, whether it is an embrace, a smile or a random act of kindness.  This is how the hopelessness deteriorates and the healing begins.

        For your truly, shifting my energy into this state of love and light can sometimes come with difficulty, especially in times like these.  I stumble to art, movies and music seeking solace and assistance.  Something as simple as an uplifting song can remind me to ignite my light and even though it does not have the power to change what has transpired, it can restore my faith in the ability to calibrate our hearts and transform them into shining beacons of hope.  I’ve had this song on repeat the last few days and it has given me comfort on some level. 

        So, in the words of the great Jackie Wilson, lift up your love, higher and higher.  Turn your light into love, allow it to become infectious and let us begin the healing process when we are ready.

(Copyright 2012 ~ Jason Natzke)

         So, it’s the fourth Thursday of November here in Wellington, New Zealand and I must admit that I find myself a bit out of my comfort zone. I believe that being thrust into a new experience is something that always leads to growth and transformation, no matter how difficult it might seem at the beginning. After two months of being on the trail of adventure, I am discovering that this concept has become one of my main companions on this backpacking excursion. Each day here in New Zealand has seemingly given me the opportunity to step out of that comfortable emotional space, but these moments have not come without their challenges. Catapulting ourselves into new territory can be a frightening experience, as we nearly always associate the “leap” with risk and fear the possibility that we might feel pain, hurt, rejection or embarrassment. Remember the first school dance you went to? I can remember mine more vividly than I probably should, but what I recollect with the most clarity is the volcanic eruption that was happening inside my stomach as my best friend encouraged me to go talk to the girl I was staring at in awe. I couldn’t quite articulate it at the time, but the resistance to stepping out of my comfort zone was not about having difficulty walking over and striking up a conversation, but rather about the fear of having her reject me and subsequently, feeling like a lifeless idiot. Simply put, the fear of the risk and its possible repercussions often become stronger than the desire to achieve what we want in the first place and therefore we choose not to take the leap at all.

        Since I’ve arrived in this beautiful country, I’ve often thought back to that awkward boy at his first school dance. I’ve had to swallow my pride a few times and ask for directions, exposing myself as a tourist. A few days ago, I decided to stop reading NFL analysis on my iPad and I ate lunch with a total stranger, who turned out to be a fellow backpacker. Last week, I plucked up the courage and talked to the gorgeous girl whose American accent I actually recognized. I have no idea where I’ll be in two weeks, or where I will working to replenish my funds so I can keep traveling. I haven’t shaved since Halloween. I bought apricot jelly a few weeks ago…I NEVER do that. And here is the best part: every leap outside that comfortable place of insecurity has led to wonderful connections, countless memories and exciting stories I can tell to my children someday. And I discovered that I actually enjoy apricot jelly!

        I find myself in a similar situation this evening: for the first time I can remember, I am spending Thanksgiving away from my beloved family. While I am confident that I am currently supposed to be in New Zealand on my grand adventure, I would be lying if I told you that my absence didn’t make me sad and long to see their faces. Ok, I’m lonely today…there, I said it! Home feels very far away this Thanksgiving, but someone wise once told me that there is a difference between feeling lonely and being alone. I’ve come to realize that missing home, family and friends is part of the journey. I’m human after all. But something clicked for me today: instead of bemoaning how far away I feel from the comforts of Colorado, why not bring a little slice of home to Wellington, New Zealand? My favorite part of Thanksgiving used to be simple: just give me a plate of turkey the size of my face and let’s watch some football! Unsurprisingly, both remain dear to my heart, but over the last few years, I’ve grown to enjoy the period of sharing what we are all grateful for more than anything else. To be in the presence of the people you love and create a wonderful, understanding and beautifully vulnerable energetic space of gratitude is pretty special. There is nothing like it, which is why I am making the choice to venture back home for a brief moment, if you will indulge me:

        I am grateful to have the most caring, loving and gracious mother in the world. I guarantee I wouldn’t have had the bravery to venture to the bottom of the world by myself if it wasn’t for the courage I’ve seen her possess. I am grateful to call my father my hero and my closest friend. I am truly honored to be his son. I’m sure not every son can say he lucked out with both his parents and I am thankful to say that I certainly did. I am grateful that my brother and I are wired a little differently…it keeps things interesting and I love him all the same. I am grateful to have a plethora of beautiful, caring and abundantly amazing group of friends that light me up inside. I am grateful for my two best friends, my two extra siblings. They have given me such a wonderful gift. I am grateful to be in good health and have the opportunity to enjoy my days of youth without the restrictions of physical ailments. I am grateful for being deeply passionate about the things that I love. I am grateful for that golden rush of exhilaration I feel each time I am impacted by a piece of film, art or music. I am grateful to really, really love my football team…and to have a future-Hall of Fame quarterback who can actually complete a forward pass. I am grateful for the opportunity to be living my dream, down here in New Zealand, or as I am beginning to call it, Middle-earth.

        Above all else, I am grateful for every challenge I have been through, every volcanic eruption that has occurred within my stomach when I’ve stood at the precipice of leaping out of my comfort zone. Every leap has ultimately ended up being worth the risk and brought uncharted levels of transformation, making my New Zealand journey one of never-ending excitement. If there is one thing that I have learned on this unique Thanksgiving day, it is the fact that by simply choosing to be in gratitude cannot only extinguish the burning embers of fear, it can also bring home a lot closer than it may seem on the outset. Happy Thanksgiving to all and know that I am grateful for YOU.

(Copyright 2012 ~ Jason Natzke)

            I must be honest and say that last night was a rough one. Staying in youth hostels every night has its benefits, such as access to a full kitchen, wireless internet for those Sundays when I miss football (ok, so that’s every Sunday), but ultimately, they provide the solo backpacker the opportunity to meet other travelers and make brief but meaningful connections that can change the complexion of the day. However, much like dorm-room life in college, these benefits have another side to them. Case in point: after barely sidestepping a pile of vomit on the bathroom floor, I returned to my bed, one of six mattresses in the room, with the intention of a solid night’s sleep. The revelry lasted a few precious hours, until my three suite-mates stumbled in after what I gathered, from their incoherent dialogue, was an adventurous tour of the many bars Wellington has to offer. Thankfully, one of the guys was kind enough to escort his new female friend somewhere else and those details shall belong to them. About ten to fifteen minutes later (not very long, was it?), after his two buddies had passed out on their respective beds, the (rather heavy-set) young man returned without his female companion with his sights set on slumber. Now, I must clarify and state that most hostels are comprised of bunk-beds, which are fun to share with your brother when you are a child, but in a youth hostel, they transform into an object of terror. In a drunken haze, he stripped down into his boxers several feet from my face (I could sense something was nearby and thoroughly regret opening my eyes to investigate) and climbed into the bed above me. I let out a sigh of relief; all three men had retired and it was time for me to return to sleep.

            Not so fast. After peacefully drifting off, I was awoken by a sound so booming, a noise so cacophonous that I thought I had wandered into Sarajevo circa 1994. I’m sure that you, the patient reader, has shared a room with a loud snorer at least once in your life, but I assure you that it was not as deafening as this. I was sleeping underneath a freight train; I was cradling a subwoofer blasting at full volume. Were the windows shaking from the wind or the snorer’s timbre? Just as I thought it couldn’t get any worse, Snorlax’s cell phone begins to go off…somehow the alarm was set for 4am and the annoying jingle proceeds to continue for a very, very long time. I attempted to awaken the behemoth, but to no avail. I grabbed my iPod (one of the greatest inventions ever) and closed my eyes. Solace finally found me and the frustration was replaced by a vision so clear, I felt as if it was actually happening. Perhaps it was the rather cinematic music that was flowing through my eardrums, but I began to dream that I was Spider-man, swinging through the air with grace, weaving around shimmering skyscrapers as if they were tall blades of grass. A lucid, inspiring dream can turn the longest of nights into an exercise of beautiful escapism and this moment proved to be no different. I don’t keep it a secret that inside my twenty-three year-old body is a nine year-old child chasing adventure, seeking excitement in stories of heroic superheroes and epic tales of endless wonder.

             Don’t worry, there is a point to all this blabber. As I approach my one month anniversary of arriving in New Zealand, I have come to realize that this journey is all about making memories and creating moments that will last a lifetime, where I can look back someday and simply say “wow.” There have been wonderful memories in the last twenty-eight days, such as hiking across seemingly endless beaches with only the sound of the approaching waves to accompany me, or learning and performing the “haka”, the traditional Maori warrior dance. There have even been memories that have made me feel at home, such as watching my Broncos complete the largest comeback in the history of Monday Night Football from a small backpackers lodge in Tongariro National Park. And, as with the dualistic nature of life itself, there have been a few unenjoyable memories along the road as well, such as coming down with a fever while camping, or the brutal night I’ve described above. However, the memories of joy have far outweighed those of frustration and sometimes, I believe we have to experience those difficult moments in order to fully appreciate the magnificent ones.

            As I share these thoughts and write these words, I am experiencing yet another incredible memory that will no doubt make my New Zealand highlight reel. After dreaming of being Spider-man only a few hours ago, I have stumbled upon a rope swing hanging from a massive tree along the side of Mt. Victoria, high above the city Wellington. The swing must be fifty feet above the ground at its apex and I have spent the last hour or so nurturing the nine year-old that lives inside, howling for joy as I glide through the air with the city skyline in plain view. With each swing from the tree and wild journey through the sky, I release all tension and worry. Above all else, in that moment of youthful exhilaration as a look down at the skyline, I am creating a memory that will last a lifetime, forging a moment of joy into my being and allowing it to live inside my heart. The ultimate beauty lies within the fact I will be able to return to this memory whenever I want to; I now have the power to literally swing through the air as Spider-man. What a gift the Universe has provided.

            We all have powerful memories that lie on both ends of the spectrum; moments that we will remember as being positive, negative and sometimes both. If there is one thing I have learned in my brief time venturing across New Zealand, it is the importance of creating the opportunities to make memories that are indelible by nature. These moments often do not make themselves, as we have to go out and find them. It can sometimes take courage to seek out these memories, but some of the more memorable moments on my journey (so far) have been when I have either stepped out of my comfort zone and started up a conversation with a fellow traveler, or disengaged my head and used my heart as my compass. I like to think that my heart led me this rope swing at Mt. Victoria.

            So, go searching for memories, clamor and yearn for them, create moments that will light you up when you describe them to a friend twenty years…you just might grant yourself the opportunity to be Spider-man. And what could be better than that?

(Copyright 2012 ~ Jason Natzke)