You know how when a relationship begins, there is that weird sharing stage where each person talks about his/her various scars and the outlandish (or stupid) causes for them?

Maybe we’ve arrived to that stage in our relationship, dear blog reader. I’ve got scars galore, which I attribute to a life lived adventurously. Is that a word? I’ll risk it. Heh. See? I’m bold like that.

There’s the elbow gash that resembles a gun shot scar, but was actually procured from riding (against better judgement and previous parental warnings) on a moped during the summer of my 8th grade. Luckily I wore a helmet, or I’d have even more lovely gravel-laced scar stories spread across my forehead to explain.

There’s the lawn mowing attempt scar, which occurred when my dad allowed me to try to ‘mow along with the boys.’ I quickly hit a rock, which left its mark nicely on my knee. Today I leave lawn care to the professionals.

The first grade stitches incident happened when I decided that chasing a boy around the room was a good idea. I knocked a chair off of a nearby desk, which crushed my index finger, leaving me in stitches (not in a funny way) and missing out on the everlasting, monumental end-of-the-year party festivities. I still have the misshapen finger to prove it.

I have a new scar to add to the collection. This summer we visited a wonderful place called the Country Woods Inn in Glen Rose, Texas. It’s a fabulous wonderland of farm yard animals, fresh air and fire flies. It’s also got the Paluxy River, which includes the most slippery, algae-covered rocks I’ve seen in a long time. Let’s just say don’t attempt to wrangle a wild two-year-old with one arm. Ever. This mistake landed me in the water, with a torn (shoulder) rotator cuff.

A month later, I’ve had surgery and on the mend. All that remains is stiffness and a small scar. Regrets? I’ve replayed that fall a few times in my mind. Maybe I would have chosen a different route, or kept Charlie out of the river. But what fun is that? Such is life. It’s an adventure, and scars are our souvenirs. I’ll need those reminders when I’m 80.

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About the author

Autumn Carpenter
While navigating the carpool lane and translating toddler conversations might not rank high on some adventure life lists, I happily include those accomplishments alongside skydiving, dodging Pamplonian bulls and surviving three-hour Vinyasa yoga classes. I look for the story in everyday situations, and convey them easily in both print and online mediums. I’m also SEO-friendly ghostblogger, web content writer and copywriter. Let’s collaborate on a project today!

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