You Need to Heed the Call to Adventure

July's Invitation to Uncertainty

July does not ask much of us. The farmers in their tractors have already completed the first cutting of hay. It is baled and stored. The sheep born in February and chicks in April have grown large enough to range freely. Hives started in May are boiling over, and the beekeepers muse if they can sneak on one more box of frames to fill with honey. Everything put in motion in the first half of the year is now coming to fruition, reaching a sort of escape velocity if you have indeed set it in motion. So what does July ask of you? Very little. The swimming hole calls, the edible mushrooms in the forest begin to bloom, and the golden long-light of evenings allow parents to be a little less draconian about exactly when dinner will be. The white curtains waft in the breeze, the hydrangeas blush blue, and the aroma of beach roses float past the white fence into your open windows. Look out onto the large lakes and coasts to spot the white sails of sailing ships. This idle is good. It is a pause, a moment to breathe and revel in the world’s natural rhythms, unburdened by the relentless demands of schedules and screens. July offers you an invitation to step outside, to embrace a fleeting freedom that is ancient in essence, a freedom that our modern world, with its obsession for control, all too often stifles.

Walk by any river or lake this time of year and you will hear the joyful cries of children swimming. They climb onto the railings of the bridge here and jump into the dark green deep of the lake below. There is a freedom here, an easy recklessness one does not find much anymore; our culture has become so staid and safe. Yet there at the bridge over the lake, the children climb to the rail and plunge.

Cannonball, jack knife, pencil dive.

The only rule seems to be that your splash must either be very large or very small as you jump into the green-deep water. There is something transcendent here, something deeper to investigate. In what other aspect of our lives are we still able to jump into the dark in search of a thrill? Where, beyond the swimming hole, do you have the courage still to leap into a shadowy pool, to take a risk, to be free and reckless? So much of our culture has been cordoned off, safety rails added, all adventure and risk removed. You might point to any number of transgressive acts as cheap risky thrills, but all of those are just one form of consumerism or another running along a spectrum of illicitness. The swimming hole is a rare sanctuary where the spirit of adventure persists, where children, and sometimes adults, can still taste the exhilaration of uncertainty. This act of leaping, of defying the sanitized constraints of modern life, reminds us of a primal joy that safetyism seeks to erase, a joy that thrives in the unscripted and the unknown we retain in our good green hearts.

In the hills above the lakes, the forests of pine and maple hold a treasure: chanterelles. Golden mushrooms shaped like chalices sprout from the pine duff covered forest floor and beckon the wild gourmand. There is a sort of Arthurian romance to mushroom hunting. As a child, one enters the dark wood with sword-stick in hand ready to slay any number of dragon or goblin, seeking treasure and glory. As an adult, one enters the forest to hunt for golden chalices in hopes of returning home with a delicious bounty. There is a Romance here that is becoming increasingly rare. We wander into the forest hoping to find a delicacy, knowing we very well we may not. There is no guarantee, there is no participation trophy or consolation prize; you may leave the wood with nothing but bug bites and nettle stings. Like the swimming hole, the mushroom-laden forest holds something we are losing as a culture. It is not the risk of jumping into a green-deep dark lake, but rather the free caprice of knowing you may or may not find what you seek. An adventure, a risk of lost time. There is something there, a thrill that defies the efficiency and greasy-ease of modern life, of digital precision, of algorithmic assuredness you will be fed something you enjoy. The forest, with its unpredictable bounty, challenges the modern ethos of guaranteed outcomes, inviting us to embrace the possibility of failure as part of the journey, to find joy in the search itself rather than the certainty of success.

Pierre-Auguste Renoir Sailboats at Argenteuil

This contrast between July’s wild abandon and the modern world’s safetyism reveals a deeper cultural shift. Our lives are increasingly governed by algorithms and protocols, insurances and safe guards, designed to minimize risk and maximize comfort. From curated social media feeds to GPS-guided travel, we are insulated from the unexpected, our experiences engineered for predictability. Yet, in July, the natural world offers a counterpoint. The long evenings, where fireflies dance and the air hums with possibility, encourage us to linger outside, to let go of rigid schedules. This is a time when we might climb a hill at dusk simply because the horizon calls. This spontaneity is at odds with a society that pads every corner, that warns against every potential misstep, that dulls the edges. Safetyism, while born of good intentions, has stripped away the raw edges of life where growth and discovery occur. It has replaced the thrill of the unknown with the dull hum of certainty, leaving us yearning for moments like those found in July, moments where we can wander, leap, or search without the guarantee of success. The natural rhythms of this month remind us that adventure, with all its risks, is a necessity for the human spirit, for what remains of our wild hearts.

July, then, is a call to reclaim what we’ve lost. It is a fleeting season that dares us to step beyond the guardrails of modern life, to rediscover the courage to leap into the unknown, whether it’s a lake, a forest, or a moment of unscripted joy. The swimming hole and the chanterelle-laden woods are real places, but there are many more verdant and wild places that embraces uncertainty as a source of vitality. As you move through this month, heed the quiet invitation: wander without a map, risk failure for the chance at wonder, let the long-light of evenings stretch and, with them, your sense of possibility. In a wounded culture that prizes safety above all, July reminds us that true freedom lies in the reckless plunge, the fruitless search, the unscripted moment. By embracing the adventure of July, we might rediscover a part of ourselves that safetyism has tried to tame: a part that thrives in the wild, untamed briar-heart of summer.