Going on Adventure 101

In a few weeks’ time, I leave on a journey I've been dreaming about my whole life. The bags are almost packed, my stomach is doing that familiar dance between terror and exhilaration, and I keep catching myself staring at maps. I want to share what I've learned over my lifetime about preparing for an adventure.

(The 7Ps Framework was designed by James Macanufo.)

To keep things simple, I use an agile-inspired tool called the 7Ps. I have used this visualisation countless times in my time as a Scrum Master. Its beauty is in its simplicity. It gives me a loose framework and something to hold onto without being too rigid.

Purpose
The purpose of an adventure is for me to explore how to head into something unknown and let it change me. I want to handle the rough parts and the joyful ones. I want to stay open to both.

This is how I learn what the adventure really has to offer. Not just in what happens, but in how I respond. How I surprise myself.

People
The network of people I need is always wider and more multilayered than I initially think. They are the glue that quietly holds the journey all together every step of the way.

This includes those who pass along crucial information, the ones in the know.

Family is its own category. They know after all this time, they should try not show their concern outright, even when my plans sound borderline mad. They are my cheerleaders, the people who lift my spirits, faithfully read every email or blog post I send from the road and keep reminding me that I can do this. They also usually help in practical ways, like sending money if I run out. And they’re always there at the end, waiting with hand-drawn signs and hugs.

Then come my friends. Friends ask the hard questions about the sanity of my venture. One of my closest friend's first question about the upcoming adventure, wasn't "When do you leave?" but "What's your backup plan?" They also are an endless source of connections to people in every corner of the world who I can crash on their couch. They’re reliable, stalwart supporters, who are nevertheless critical thinkers.

Sponsors whether individuals or organisations, support me in more concrete ways. They help me keep my feet on the ground. They care about the dream, but also about the budget.

And then there are the people I meet along the way. No matter what my adventure is, those who help, listen, and cheer me on become the heartbeat of my story, the raison d'être for journeying on further.

Some stay in my memory. Others blur into the background. But they all shape the journey in some way.

Product
Most of my adventures don’t end with a formal outcome. There’s no trophy, no record. Instead, what’s left are artifacts. Ticket stubs. Clothing so worn-out it really ought to be tossed. The faded boarding pass from that terrifying flight to Singapore that I still keep in my passport holder. Slews of photos that don’t quite capture what I saw or felt.

There’s no real way to bottle the essence of an adventure. The experience is far too rich for that. Still, I try to share the stories. I find ways to bring others in, especially those cheering me on from their own homes. Even if just in bits and pieces.

Process
Dwight D. Eisenhower once said, “In preparing for battle I have always found that plans are useless, but planning is indispensable.” I find that to be true every time I set out.

Everyone approaches preparation differently. You can go as deep into that rabbit hole as feels right. I prepare, but in such a way that I know for certain some of those plans will fall apart. I will forget some things. Other things I drag along, I will never use. That’s part of the process. These are the reasons I am a constant Plan B generator throughout any journey.

What my process of an adventure really looks like is a mess of movement and stillness, of readiness and recovery. I try to dive head on into the venture, not just practically, but mentally, physically, and spiritually.

The above is a visualisation about how much effort and impact a journey takes on me at various levels of my being.

My style of preparation is simple. I don’t pack much. I don’t overthink.

I bring important documents (e.g. passports, visas, vaccination pass, and credit cards). I keep a checklist for technology I want to bring along. Enough clothing to layer and wash. My essentials—five pairs of underwear, two pairs of shoes, one bathing suit, and a warm jacket.
I also make a short itinerary. Not just for me, but for family. I include contacts, locations, even passwords if needed.

At this stage of life, I focus on three things. Health. Finances. Technology.

Health: I get a thorough medical check-up. I pack the medications I need and a few extras. I am a believer in bringing preventative medicine for travel-related illnesses, such as heatstroke, food poisoning, back pain, minor injuries, burns, flu symptoms, and digestion problems. I learned this the hard way after being violently seasick in the middle of the Atlantic with nothing but seasickness tablets that had expired three years earlier.

Finances: With money, I try to pay in advance, but only if it’s refundable. I carry a mix of cash and cards. Credit cards aren’t accepted everywhere, and I have been caught off guard with daily spending limits. I often give someone I trust a good sum of money, so they can help if I run into trouble.

Technology: This might not be an important consideration to everyone, but I’m a geek through and through. So, I bring along a large selection of devices, cables, chargers, and battery packs.

Everything else? That’s just extra.

Some pitfalls are predictable. Others show up out of nowhere. I try to think through what might go wrong. Not obsessively. Just enough to feel ready.

The hardest moments are often the ones I didn't expect. When something I imagined would be meaningful feels flat. Or when I realize I'm no longer in the right place, physically or emotionally. A few years back, I had to cut short an important trip that I'd planned for months. There was so much still left to be done, but my health was deteriorating, and I found myself clinging to a version where all would be well, and it just wasn’t about to happen.

It is hard for me not to force it. I’ve learnt painfully not to cling to a version of the story that no longer fits. Sometimes, the right choice is to pause. Or go home. Or change direction. That’s not failure. That’s part of the journey.

The bravest thing I do is say yes in the first place. The wisest thing is knowing when to say, “This is enough. For now.”

Preparation
Practical concerns
Pitfalls