"You should make a point of trying every experience once" - except incest and folk-dancing. -- A. Bax, "Farewell My Youth"

In an era where self-improvement and experiential living dominate cultural conversations, the credo “You should make a point of trying every experience once” resonates as both a call to adventure and a provocation. The line, famously penned by British composer and writer Arnold Bax in his 1943 memoir Farewell My Youth, has been quoted and misquoted for decades, often stripped of its darkly humorous caveat: “except incest and folk-dancing.” Yet, as modern society grapples with the boundaries of curiosity, Bax’s tongue-in-cheek exception list invites reflection on how we define meaningful—and permissible—exploration.

Bax, a figure steeped in the romanticism of early 20th-century Europe, championed a life rich with sensory and intellectual pursuits. His memoir, a meditation on creative growth and the passage of time, framed experimentation as essential to artistry. Yet his sardonic exclusion of folk-dancing—a nod to its perceived rigidity or tedium—and incest, an unthinkable taboo, served as a reminder that not all experiences warrant indulgence. Today, as social media fuels a relentless pursuit of novelty, from extreme sports to viral challenges, Bax’s qualifiers feel newly relevant. What separates enriching experimentation from mindless conformity or moral transgression?

Psychologists and cultural critics alike argue that the answer lies in intentionality. Dr. Elena Torres, a behavioral researcher at Cambridge University, notes, “The human desire to explore is innate, but context matters. Experiences that challenge our perspectives or foster empathy are profoundly different from those undertaken for clout or without ethical consideration.” This distinction is critical in an age where “doing it for the story” often overshadows deeper engagement. Platforms like TikTok and Instagram have turned life into a highlight reel, incentivizing shock value over substance. Meanwhile, niche travel companies and “experience economy” startups market everything from zero-gravity flights to immersive war reenactments, promising transformation—or at least a memorable photo op.

Bax’s dismissal of folk-dancing, a practice deeply rooted in communal tradition, ironically clashes with modern trends that valorize cultural immersion. Yet his aversion may have less to do with the act itself than with its potential to become a hollow performance. “Folk-dancing, when stripped of its history and forced into a tourist spectacle, loses its soul,” argues anthropologist Marco Velez. “It becomes another box to tick, rather than a bridge to understanding.” Similarly, the rise of “dark tourism”—visiting sites of tragedy or conflict—has sparked debate about voyeurism versus education.

The line between curiosity and exploitation grows ever finer. Consider the recent controversy over a Norwegian company offering “homelessness simulation” experiences, marketed as empathy-building exercises. Critics condemned it as poverty tourism, while proponents argued it fostered awareness. Such dilemmas underscore Bax’s implicit warning: not all experiences are created equal, and some deserve to be skipped.

Yet the essence of his maxim endures. From chefs experimenting with psychedelics to retirees taking up skydiving, the pursuit of novel experiences continues to define personal growth. “Life’s richness comes from the edges of our comfort zones,” says adventurer and author Tara Simmons, who chronicled her yearlong quest to try 365 new activities. “But discernment is key. I’ll never base jump or eat tarantulas again, but I’m glad I did it once.”

Bax’s wit, woven with a dash of morbidity, ultimately challenges us to live boldly yet thoughtfully—to seek the extraordinary without losing sight of the humane. As technology and globalization make the world’s wonders (and its perils) more accessible, his words serve as both inspiration and caution: venture far, but carry moral clarity as your compass. After all, some doors are best left unopened—not out of fear, but out of respect for the dignity that binds us.