I began thinking hard about why I wanted to be an explorer, and what it was that was drawing me to such dangerous territories. I started figuring out why I was so passionate about my dream, and I started jotting down my thoughts and motivations.
I remember holing up in my room once again, building scrapbook after scrapbooks of places near and far that I wanted to visit.
I remember making up poems about distant lands, and scribbling down my thoughts into my diary before they evaporated away into thin air.
I remember printing posters of beautiful landscapes and plastering them around my room.
I remember collecting a bunch of quotes and pasting these quotes onto my bedroom ceiling.
In between this madness, I began understanding myself.
You see, there wasn’t really a passion to explore the world in the first place. It was the feelings I associated with being an explorer that appealed to me.
At the back of my mind, explorers were embodiments of freedom, passion, strength, and people who found the courage to face the unknown. That was what I really wanted, and I wouldn’t have been able to come to such a conclusion if I hadn’t started defining my motivations.
I finally began setting goals to help me achieve this dream.
The long-term plan was to be happy, but the short-term goals were what ultimately determined if I was able to make great things happen out of my life.