“The more you fly the more you risk your life” ~ Stereophonics
Or, as defined by my dictionary
Risk (n): the possibility or bringing about misfortune or loss
Being alive is a risk.
Not in the dying sense; life offers only one 100% guarantee and that is that you will die.
But, death (guaranteed) aside, everything is a risk.
Get up for work, especially on a Monday; increased risk of heart attack. I know Mondays aren’t generally a favourite but this would be especially bad.
Drink; cirrhosis of the liver. Snazzy. Very Errol Flynn.
Smoke; shall I pour tar into your lungs now and save us all the time and hassle?
Fall in love; heart = broken. Chardonnay there, Bridget?
I’m being flippant. Obviously, I’m being flippant. But that doesn’t mean I don’t have a point.
Everything in life carries a risk. You are probably as statistically likely of horrible death if you stay home under your duvet as you are by setting foot out of your front door.
But that’s the bottom line, isn’t it? Experience the adventure and die trying. Or, well, die anyway.
I’m no major “thrill seeker”. I don’t need to explore every horizon. But I know & love the value of exploring open doors, especially those that open unexpectedly in front of me. My life has changed immeasurably because of me having the bravery to do this.
And it has taken bravery. Bravery and friendship and excellent companionship. I am grateful to every single person who has lead me or walked me through any of those doors.
But I was the one who walked through them. The risk, the potential loss or misfortune, was mine. And I have lost, make no mistake about it. I have lost, I have cried, I have howled in grief.
But I have made friends, I have found love, I have experienced all of that and more that I would never have believed.
The potential for you experience the same is at the tips of your fingers and the tips of your toes every single day. I urge you to try it. Then write me a comment box-shaped postcard and tell me all about it.