It’s far easier to come up with excuses not to do something than reasons to go for it. Sure, sometimes there are legitimate obstacles standing in our way, and other times, it just doesn’t pan out. But I believe we would be shocked to realize the amount of time that we are simply holding ourselves back.

Last November, I came across a posting for a Disney Cruise Line Alaska Naturalist on the Conservation Job Board email digest I get every day. It would have been easy to scroll past it, instead of spending an hour updating my resume and crafting a cover-letter-style email. I could have decided it was too scary or too many unknowns and simply not apply. My sense of adventure pushed me to do otherwise.

Less than a week later I had an interview with an entertainment manager at Disney Cruise Line. The immediate offer: four 45-minute nature presentations in exchange for a free 7-night Alaskan cruise for me and three guests. All food included, my flights paid for.

The next six months were a blur of excitement and anxiety. In December I officially accepted and sent in all of my digitally signed paperwork. A month later in January I almost backed out. I was a shaky, tear-streaked, darkness-depressed mess, and my biggest fear was having something big and scary hanging over my head all spring. I was a puddle of tears on my couch as I tried to decide whether I should try to get out of my commitment. Anxiety sat on my shoulders and chest as I imagined creating brand new presentations that I would share with hundreds of people. I worried that I would faint on stage, get sick, or worse–that I wouldn’t be good at it. I share these intense feelings of fear because I want to remember that I am capable of being truly brave. That is, going after an opportunity that truly scares me. With some much needed encouragement from family, I decided to stick with it, and despite numerous personal challenges this spring that took my energy elsewhere, I was able to complete my presentations and pull them off in a way I was proud of.

At the time, I felt that my gut was telling me it was too much to take on. Too much to work towards in a year that I was already trying to bike for birds and get married. Looking back, I was simply afraid.

I realized that it had been a long while since I’d done something that truly scared me. I used to do it all the time. When I accepted my first internship in Denali National Park in 2016, I skipped across my college campus on the same day that I huddled under my covers and looked up scary photos of grizzly bears that night. I was convinced I would die in a bear attack in my short 12 weeks in Alaska. No matter that Denali has only had one grizzly bear death in its 105 year history. I would be the second.

Sometimes scary things can help us unlock a piece of ourselves that we didn’t even know we had inside. I thrived in Alaska. That’s not to say it wasn’t without its challenges. I cried at night for nearly two weeks straight I was so homesick and nervous to be there alone, but it wasn’t long before I made friends and met a version of myself I didn’t know existed.

In 2017, John and I left Denali with a packed-full Subaru and no plan for the coming winter. It was six weeks before we even knew where we were trying to end up. In 2018, with no teaching experience, I accepted a job as a naturalist in Denali, spent weeks creating my presentations and interpretive hikes, and found myself in a position where I was on-the-spot and teaching nature to a crowd 40 hours a week. I worked through stomachaches of nerves while I played with presentation styles and lesson ideas. And I loved it.

And since moving to Madison? Sure, I am happy with how I’ve spent my time, and I’ve gotten to do some pretty amazing things. But there is something extra special about making it through an adventure that frightens you as much as it excites you. And the Disney Cruise was exactly what I needed.

I spent April and May creating my four 45-minute lectures on Southeast Alaska from scratch. It is unnerving to work on a presentation that you know you only get one shot at. The deadline did loom ahead of me, as I had feared, but I let it approach, steady as the tide, and did my best to take steps towards the finish line in the process.

As a naturalist aboard the ship, I was given a stateroom to fill with myself and 3 guests. After John, I invited my brother, my true Disney-movie-music-and-quotes partner-in-crime. As a gift to him, I let him bring a friend along for our final guest.

Despite the well-planned nature of Disney, there were mountains of uncertainty heading into the experience. I was told someone would take us to the hotel, and to the ship the next day, without further details of who I was looking for, or what time. I knew I needed to meet with entertainment on my first day, but had no contacts or names aboard the ship. We boarded the ship in Juneau, which meant it was halfway through a cruise itinerary. I expected the crew to understand why we were boarding, luggage in hand, but it still seemed to cause confusion as we walked up the gang plank. I learned how to better roll with uncertainty when I knew things were going to work out. We made it to our room, a letter was waiting with instructions for my job, and we knew where to go for dinner. The rest was cake.

Our seven days aboard the Wonder both flew and stretched with every new experience, and dare I say it was even magical. My brother and I were lucky enough to sail on the very same ship in 2005, when it was one of just two Disney ships and operated in the Caribbean. Getting to experience the same ship again as adults and for the first time together was an experience I will never forget.

Aside from the complete shock and awe of being pampered aboard a cruise ship, my job was thrilling in another way. I spoke to audiences of more than 300 people in the Walt Disney Theater, sharing stories of birds, plants, marine mammals, the Tongass National Forest, glaciers, history, and conservation. I was even lucky enough to stand in the bridge of the ship while I narrated our “glacier day” journey down Endicott Arm, a 30-mile-long fjord that ends with Dawes Glacier.

At the end of my Wildlife of Southeast Alaska presentation, I stepped off of the stage to answer questions to guests who approached the stage. A young blonde girl with blue glasses stood last in line, and when she approached, she asked, “I was just wondering what a kid like me can do to protect the animals?” She was nervous, and serious. I was filled with sadness and glowing hope all at once. I looked to her father, fighting the swelling tears in my eyes, and back down at her, unsure of exactly what to say.

“I think”, I began, “that the best thing you can do right now is to learn as much as you can about our animals, and then talk to everyone in your life about the amazing things you learn and how important they are.” She nodded shyly, unsure. “Someday,” I continued, “you can get a job as an educator like me, or work in conservation, but for now the best way you can help animals is by learning more about them.”

She nodded and smiled, satisfied with my answer, and chirped “thank you!” as they walked away.

In July, Disney emailed me again asking if I’d like to join for a second cruise at the end of the season, just two months away. They had a sudden opening. I was juggling other ideas for travel in September, just one month after our wedding, but when my mom asked me if I would do the cruise again if I didn’t already have other trip ideas, I answered, “Without question.” I had my answer.

This time I took my parents along with John again. Because I was the last naturalist of the season, we cruised for 10 days instead of seven. We enjoyed the shows, the people, the scenery, and I daresay my dad had more fun chasing characters than even myself.

As a family, we explored Ketchikan twice, took the train in Skagway up the White Pass & Yukon Route, and went whale watching in Juneau. No matter what part of Alaska I am in, the magic I feel in my heart is the same. The temperate rainforests were a far cry from the subarctic tundra I was used to, and still I felt as if I were home. On our final sea day sailing past Vancouver Island, we saw a colony of sea lions, followed by a humpback whale, and then a pod of more than 50 pacific white-sided dolphins that played in the wake below as we passed. All of this we witnessed standing on our verandah.

One of the things I miss most about being an educator is the people. On the first cruise, I met a group of people who praised my speaking style and content delivery after my first presentation. We talked with them for an hour in the gift shop. Their affirmations and encouragement meant the world to me as I continued my week with more brand new presentations. On the second cruise, John met an older woman named Martha in line for one of the nightly theater shows. Her daughter had opted to stay in the room and she’d decided to attend the show alone. He invited her to sit with us and after she learned of my presentations, she was sure to attend my talk on glaciers the following day. She told me she was an educator for 30 years and that this was one of the best naturalist presentations she’d ever seen. At my final talk of the cruise, she was the first person in her seat 15 minutes before I began.

To me, this adventure epitomizes the kind of person I want to be. I want to take risks and have courage–to do incredible things that scare me as much as they thrill and excite me. I want to work hard to earn experiences I otherwise would not be able to afford. And I want to continue growing and learning in every part of my life.

Onwards and upwards to future adventures, big and small!