At twenty, we're prepared to conquer the world. By thirty, we've discovered the world won't be conquered quite so easily, but we can live with that. At forty, the path of life has taken more turns than an old country road, but we've kept between the ditches somehow.

Each of these decade birthdays has caused me to re-examine my life. Looking back, I realized I've made major, life-changing decisions at age twenty and again at age thirty. My fortieth birthday was no exception. I needed a new quest; some way of testing myself. Must all the challenges be reserved for the under thirties?

My quest took the form of a journey, the further away the better. I wanted to go alone. Or did I?

This inner struggle lasted for months. I hashed and re-hashed every possible reason why I should go by myself. Yet, underlying it all was the big Kahuna: Did I really have the intestinal fortitude to go it alone?

After about thirty phone calls, I found an inexpensive airfare to Barcelona, Spain. The more I discovered about this Spanish city, the better the whole idea sounded. The pieces were falling into place, yet I was still scared. My adventuresome self cheered me on, while my conservative self said the plan was far too risky. Doubts assailed me. You can't speak a word of Spanish....what if you get the flu, break your leg or get mugged? The "what-if's" went on and on.

The adventuresome side fought a hard battle and won. Still, the real test was yet to come.

I arrived safely in sunny Barcelona on the morning of the March 18th. I tend to think of travel as a series of peaks and valleys and I was about to enter my first valley.

Having reached the correct subway stop, I proceeded to get thoroughly lost. The guidebook said the hostel was a fifteen minute walk from the subway, but they neglected to give specific details. My bag seemed to grow heavier with every step and I was exhausted from only four hours of sleep.

The first two people I asked for directions spoke very little English. I chided myself for not obtaining more precise directions before leaving home.

For the first and only time during that week I burst into tears. Several deep, choking breaths later, I pulled myself together and realized the irony. I'd come all this way and was probably within sight of the hostel, but couldn't find it! However, my guardian angels provided three college-age backpackers, lumbering up the hill. I followed them the rest of the way. Lesson learned.

The hostel itself, was a soaring peak, not a valley. Once a private mansion, the surrounding grounds held lovely exotic plants and palm trees.

But the true high point of the first day was meeting Lucy, from Nairobi, Kenya. Lucky for me, the hostel put us in the same 4-bunk room. Lucy and I were close in age but with one major difference, Lucy was confined to a wheelchair.

Not the least daunted by her situation, in fact challenged by it, Lucy got around Barcelona by taxi. Although she had a husband and two children back home, Lucy flew alone to Spain three times a year to sell African craftwork.

I'll not soon forget Lucy and the wonderful inspiration she gave me. Among other things, she'd won medals in the disabled Olympics and helped to build her own house. I felt privileged to meet such an extraordinary, self-confident woman. Lucy never let a little thing like a wheelchair stand in her way.

Her courage and firm resolve to travel alone made my earlier apprehension seem trivial by comparison. If Lucy had the wherewithal to cross continents, so could I. Lesson learned.

Hostels are by nature congenial places. By the second night I made two more friends, Gary, a 49-year old from Scotland and his 20-year old nephew, James, from England. Without trying, I became their impromptu tour guide. They were unsure about venturing into the subway, so I offered to show them the ropes.

Unfortunately, during our first excursion into the underworld of the subway, Gary's wallet was stolen. One minute he was maneuvering through the turnstile and the next he was screaming at the top of his lungs, "me wallet's been lifted...me wallet's been lifted," in his thick British accent. A stab of guilt lodged in my chest.

Both Gary and James instantly looked to me for guidance. Me, the indecisive, nervous nelly! I sought directions to the closest police station. But as we turned to go, I saw a group of school girls in matching blue skirts hovering near the turnstiles. With tremendous relief, I saw one of them waving around a man's wallet.

Again, it seemed my guardian angels were watching over us. Gary got his wallet back, intact.

The return trip home had a few hitches, like a cancelled flight in New York and a tedious 23-hour day. But, would I do it again? Absolutely. I learned a little risk is a good thing, because in taking the chance we gain strength.

We all need to step beyond our self-imposed limits, whether age 20 or 90. The challenge need not be travel, it could be anything from finishing a law degree to taking up rock climbing.

Lesson learned.