A Risk

A Risk

Whenever I’m faced with a decision that involves some risk I always ask myself what’s the worst that could happen if it doesn’t go well.  I’m not a financial risk taker.  I’m not a big gambler and I only wager what I can afford to lose.  I don’t risk physical injury.  I drive the speed limit and always wear a seatbelt.  If I see a big dog roaming unleashed that could possibly bite me, I find a safe spot. 

When I was in graduate school we did this team-building bungee jumping exercise and I opted out.  The only other member of the class who sat it out was a man got around in a wheelchair following a diving accident.  I reasoned it out.  The worst that could happen was that I’d get hurt.  The best that could happen was. . . I couldn’t think of a single compelling reason to make the jump.  I knew I was risking people thinking I was a wimp and that I wasn’t a team player, but that was a risk I was willing to take.  So Hugh and I watched everyone else jump.  He told me he was glad he had a really good excuse not to jump.   And when we got ready to graduate a few years later one of the ladies in my class told me she admired my decision not to jump.  She told me she didn’t really want to jump but she was worried about what people would think. 

What will people think of me?  Now there’s a risk I’m willing to take. 

I realize as I write this that my life has been a series of risks.   I live in risk.  I embrace it.    

Every time I get on stage and sing or act I’m risking rejection or being laughed out. 

Every time I post my response to one of these blog topics I risk opening myself up to criticism or judgment. 

Every time I share a picture of myself without a wig covering my bald head I risk offending people. I have alopecia, and I can’t help that I’ve lost my hair, but I am aware it makes some people uncomfortable to see a bald woman. 

Every career switch has been a risk, and I’ve made many in my nearly thirty years in the work force. About a year ago I left a job where I was at the top of my field to take an entry level job with a company where I’d dreamed about working for years.  I took a pay cut and also went from being a manager to being managed.  I went from making major decisions to having to get authorization for even a few minutes of overtime. 

Every time I’ve entered a new relationship I’ve risked being hurt.  I got married in 2017, and it wasn’t for the first time or even the second or third time.  But I decided it was worth the risk to allow myself to love again.   I also risked the judgment of those who responded to my happy news with, “Really? You’re getting married again?!” 

I’ve decided what things are worth the risk. Not everything is worth it.  I won’t risk my life or my physical or financial health.  But some things in life, namely, artistic expression, freedom to be my authentic self, following my dreams, and true love, are always a risk worth taking.