After returning from my excursion to Portugal, friends have commented on my appearance. They’ve told me that I looked good.

Very subtle changes may have been set in motion. Maybe I’m more relaxed. I don’t know. I want to chalk it up to the BLACK PIG phenomenon.

The second night Nancy, my travel buddy, and I were in Porto, we looked at a list of restaurants our Air BnB host left for us.

All within walking distance, we picked out Tabua Rasa, on Rua Picaria, which specialized in traditionally cured meats and very local wines. The wines came from the nearby Douro Valley where we spent our day visiting wineries and tasting ports.

The restaurant was a small storefront with no ovens and no grills. Their philosophy was that the quality of their fare spoke for itself. They didn’t make fussy presentations or sauce things. They served simple meats and cheeses of the highest quality.

After we sat down and looked at their English language menu, my eyes caught sight of one of their specials, and I said the name of the dish out loud, almost surprising myself.

BLACK PIG.

Perhaps, it should not been a surprise that they’d have this. After all, they focused on local favorites. But we were not thinking about it specifically while we meandered down stone and brick roads, looking in shop windows at dusk.

We heard about black pig from several sources throughout our trip; from our guide in Evora, from a waiter in Lisbon, and from the day’s winery tour driver.

We were told that the black pig was special in Portugal, that the pig itself was black (not pink) and that, as it is fed on acorns from oak trees, it’s extra succulent and juicy. We were told it was not to be missed.

Early in our travels, we seemed to be on the lookout for it.

Of course, we didn’t have a chance to sample any until only a few days before we left the country. By this time, we had STOPPED LOOKING.

I read the menu item out loud because I was surprised. I had stopped looking for it… And then I found it.

Why, I believe, the local delicacy was suddenly available is — why many things happen – it’s their time.

I had let life come to me.

This is maybe one of the most wondrous things about adventure travel, about vacation in general.

It’s not about where you go, or what you see. It’s not about checking off the starred entries listed in your Frommer’s or Lonely Planet. It’s about having an adventurous state of mind.

It’s about knowing that everything you experience is full of possibilities. You don’t have to have one thing, and only that thing, in order to be happy. More things seem to happen when you see blessings in everything or, at least, see the possibilities in everything.

The best outcome of living this way is that things seem to come to you more often when you let go of making them happen. Even if your wish list item doesn’t come to you, you tend to look at everything that lands in front of you with a great curiosity and appreciation for its uniqueness.

The willingness to be surprised is highly undervalued.

Seeing a desired experience come to you after letting go of trying to manifest it, seeing an option present itself in the flow of your life, like seeing a menu item in a randomly chosen eatery, making you call out BLACK PIG, is no small thing.