Taking Risks

I guess if it takes a whole day for me to come up with some kind of risk I’ve taken that I’m happy about – and I can’t think of anything – I probably should accept the fact that I’m just one of those boring people with a very low risk tolerance.

I don’t like to gamble or make bets, or stick my neck out, or take shots in the dark. I’m not good at speculation or determining the odds. I just go with my gut feeling on most things, and then they turn out however they turn out.

I get in my car every day and drive. That’s putting myself in mortal danger; but so far I haven’t died because of it, even though it’s a kind of Russian Roulette.

I had a herniated disc operated on and got to say good-bye to chronic back pain, even though there’s always risks involved in any surgery and in this case there was a small chance that the pain might be worse afterwards than it was before. Didn’t happen, so good choice. Glad I risked it.

I got married and had children. That was kind of courageous, or ridiculously foolhardy, take your pick. So far I’ve survived it.

I like things to be safe and secure and certain and calm and predictable. The fact that they rarely are is not my fault. I don’t go looking for trouble or danger or thrills and I’m content to let them pass me by.

Sorry, I’m putting myself to sleep here. So I’m going to risk turning in now. I’ll get into bed and close my eyes and take a chance on waking up in the morning. I’ll also gamble that the house won’t burn down or blow up or fall over during the night. That’s about as adventurous as I care to get.

Goodnight. Sweet dreams. (Or horrific nightmares – life is one big crapshoot.)

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High School Reunion

My highschool was SO small there’s only been one ‘reunion’ that I’m aware of, and that was several years back and encompassed classes from a span of 20 or 25 years.

I suppose the odds of bumping into someone I actually attended classes with was pretty good. But it was all the way across the country and the more I thought about it the less I felt like seeing people I didn’t much like in the first place and probably wouldn’t recognize anyway. How utterly depressing to see how fat and bald and crazy we’ve all turned out to be.

So nope, not for me. Unless they turn up on Facebook (and some of them have – looking old and bald and crazy) I guess our ties are forever severed. Growing old alongside someone is one thing, where the changes are smooth and gradual. It would be another thing entirely to see somebody after a 30 year interval – could prove to be too much of a shock and probably even downright scary. Worse than looking in a mirror! My heart might not survive it.

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