It’s true that I’ve never liked roller coasters, have no urge to sky dive, and would sooner eat a raw slab of meat (Dances of the Wolves-style) before bungee jumping.
Dating someone like D, whom I’d categorize as very adventurous, I feel like a wimp on most days, and a far cry from the rough and tumble girl I used to be. So while I’ve been chastising myself for being a shrinking violet in terms of intense physical adventure (and hey, I think I deserve a break given past injuries), I also started opening myself up to the possibility that I’m a different kind of risk-taker.
See, I’m the kind of person who will tell you to quit your job if it’s making you unhappy, even if you haven’t found a new one yet. I’m also the kind of person who will pack up her car and move herself across the country. (Twice in three years is pretty adventurous, no?) I’m the kind of person who will encourage you to take big risks in life…but not at the blackjack table, or throwing yourself off of a cliff.
But in spite of figuring out the kind of risk-taker I am, I’ve still felt compelled to push myself in other ways—areas that may seem small to you, but feel big to me.
So this morning I got up at 8 and went water skiing, something I’ve previously been scared out of my mind to do. (Not a huge fan of water…or crashing into it at a high speed.) After that I went to the salon and, under the guidance of my friend Roberto, did something to my hair that Play-it-Safe Megan would never do.
I’ll never be chasing the next adrenaline rush, and I’ll always be fearful if you riding a motorcycle without a helmet. These things will never change.
But taking the risks I have—whether it’s moving 2,000 miles away, or falling face first into the Potomac—have, for me, paid off big.
What chances have you taken lately?