I posted a poem on my LJ blog a few minutes ago, but it, and the article in The Atlantic that inspired it got me thinking once more about how we seem to have become a risk-averse country and why I am not, or am no longer risk averse.
It comes down to this.
Life. Is. Risky.
Embrace the Risk.
Forget terrorists and criminals, other drivers, smoke and fire, floods, and all the things we think we've protected ourselves from, with border security, seat belts, police, fire fighters, smoke detectors, insurance, medicine, etc. It goes back to the Cosmo Moment.
When the doctors started talking about meds that would lower the risk of a cardiac dissection (not prevent it), I started realizing it was all about risk management, and that got me thinking about how much we emphasize safety and the price we pay for emphasis. I'd rather be free than safe.
And part of being free means taking risks. That's one reason why my daughter went to India as a high school junior with my blessing--it was a huge risk for her in all kinds of ways, but she knew it would change her life (and it did). For myself--I submit manuscripts--believe me, the failure of rejection is a very real condition for a writer, but if you don't submit, you certainly never will be published. Mind you, I'm not running back into a burning building for a kitten, but I do intend to go for a ride in a glider one of these days (although I don't think I've got the guts to jump out of a plane and skydive).
I don't worry about playing it safe because I know there is no such thing as 100 percent safety. I'd rather Live.
About Me
- Marfan-tastic Life
- I'm a freelance writer and editor and I teach editing. The plot for SPIDER FINGERS, my early YA novel about a soccer goalie who is diagnosed with Marfan Syndrome, hit me over the head after my daughter and I were diagnosed.
2 comments:
I have definitely dealt with this subject in my own life. Some years back, when I was travelling regularly into other states and occassionally out of the country, I bought a medic alert bracelet. About a year and a half later I found myself on my dorm room floor with a pair of pliers desperately trying to pry it off my wrist. I came to the conclusion that the weight of that reminder that I was at risk for dissection was limiting me too much. I am cautious by nature. I don't screw with my meds or accidently find myself in a game of football. I don't need to shout it from the rooftops that I have health problems. That memo has been sent. (That memo can also be found in my wallet, cell phone and purse. Out of sight, out of my mind. Ha.) This was my way of accepting the risk.
Interesting! BD and I wear MedicAlert bracelets, but they're the expansion kind that we can remove. Mine also lists ulcerative colitis, because I'd rather not be given aspirin or non-steroidal anti-inflamatories.
I like your phrase, "the weight of that reminder."
One of the things I admire about BD was the way she handled the limitations, in the middle of an academic year of middle school. Suddenly no participation in the contact sports units of phys ed meant lots of questions about why she wasn't playing or why she disappeared into the weight room. She simply said either "I have this medical thing" or "I have this medical thing with my heart." End of discussion.
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