But make no mistake, many of us take chances on a daily basis that affects our very lives. One little fuck up could have enormous consequences. Clearly, police officers make such decisions all the time. And every time we do, we're taking a risk. Most times, it weighs on us. Taking a chance that we're making the right call. That our decision, say, to not arrest someone in that domestic violence incident and instead "encourage" them to find another place to sleep it off will not lead to a deadly conclusion later on. Or we take a chance when we're running lights and siren to that personal injury collision and, as we're working our way through shitty rush hour traffic, we're hoping no one will jump out in front of us or that car won't make that last second, unexpected turn and we make impact on body or automobile.
None of this, really, is a grand revelation. And, quite frankly, even "announcing" that everyone takes chances is trivial. We all know that we do. Or, at least, I hope everyone knows that they do.
But some of our greatest chances are made from within. I read a friend of mine's writing recently, which brought me to this theme. (Admittedly, I "stole" her title to her blog and it now rests atop this one as well. No...never said I was overtly creative. And why reinvent the wheel?) The risk taking arising from inside us can be the most significant we ever make.
The author wrote, "What holds you back from taking a chance on something that peaks your interest or from doing something you dream of doing? Fear, usually. The comfort of the known, maybe." How very true her words are.
Fear. And comfort.
She hit the nail right on the head with both. When I talk to people about my own personal struggles, particularly with my ruinous relationship that constituted a marriage, I speak of the "known" and the "unknown." If things were so bad for years, why did I stay? Why did she stay? I truthfully have no sure idea about her. Maybe it was the last vestiges of hope in salvaging a sinking ship. Me? That's easy. Well, easy to explain now that I've stepped out of it and can see with clearer eyes. But not easy while mired in a sea of shit.
Fear paralyzes us. Most are able to overcome it, but not necessarily when it comes to the big ticket items like changing a career or leaving or starting a relationship. When we take a chance in one of those arenas we're in the big leagues. We're playing with our livelihoods. Our confidence. And, in all likelihood, our hearts. If we let that trepidation set in and let it slither through our body, mind, and soul, then it begins to rule our ability to make decisions. We cripple at the thought of failure. What if I take that new job, perhaps in another part of the country or even world, and I hate it? Or suck at it? Or what if I let my heart go and begin to let my guard down for someone else and then it doesn't work out? We go our separate ways and I'm scarred. Burned and hurt.
And that's where comfort comes in. Those possible outcomes and their ramifications on our psyche, our spirit, can be devastating. So, we just stay put. It may totally suck where we've settled, but it's familiar. We know what to expect. The problem is, it's mostly bad shit. But it's more comfortable for us. Knowing what to expect lets us know to prepare our bodies and minds for the vortex of pain that usually comes when living and experiencing that "bad shit". (I really wanted to drive the point home here...not too dramatic, I hope, with "vortex".)
That's the way it was for me. I was miserable. Arguably, we both were. But I was debilitated by the fear of the unknown. And accepting of the known however distressing it was for me. My mind and, subsequently, my body got into a routine of preparing itself for the worst. Constantly. Although cortisol is an important hormone, particularly when it comes to our "fight or flight" mode, excessive amounts of it at sustained levels can have destructive affects on the body. When we're in a depressed and sorrowful situation, we're in that "fight or flight" mode. We're always prepared to fight our way out of a complete bullshit argument over dishes or to fly the hell out of that inevitable quarrel and seek refuge somewhere, anywhere, else and thus avoiding the real issue altogether. I'm confident my cortisol levels were high. All the time. Yet even after the separation occurred, I desperately wanted to be back in that defective relationship for no other reason than because it was familiar. Comfortable per se.
Yet, without having read her blog before, I did what my sweet friend was sharing and advocating. I took a chance. On me and what I wanted and needed. And I lived. Am living.
If you are there, in a place where you are gripped by fear or moored in a bad spot because you're "comfortable", get up, get out...and take a chance. On yourself. On someone else. Rise up. Live. Your life is out there waiting for you.
P.S. A heartfelt thank you to her. Her own message was an inspiration for mine.
None of this, really, is a grand revelation. And, quite frankly, even "announcing" that everyone takes chances is trivial. We all know that we do. Or, at least, I hope everyone knows that they do.
But some of our greatest chances are made from within. I read a friend of mine's writing recently, which brought me to this theme. (Admittedly, I "stole" her title to her blog and it now rests atop this one as well. No...never said I was overtly creative. And why reinvent the wheel?) The risk taking arising from inside us can be the most significant we ever make.
The author wrote, "What holds you back from taking a chance on something that peaks your interest or from doing something you dream of doing? Fear, usually. The comfort of the known, maybe." How very true her words are.
Fear. And comfort.
She hit the nail right on the head with both. When I talk to people about my own personal struggles, particularly with my ruinous relationship that constituted a marriage, I speak of the "known" and the "unknown." If things were so bad for years, why did I stay? Why did she stay? I truthfully have no sure idea about her. Maybe it was the last vestiges of hope in salvaging a sinking ship. Me? That's easy. Well, easy to explain now that I've stepped out of it and can see with clearer eyes. But not easy while mired in a sea of shit.
And that's where comfort comes in. Those possible outcomes and their ramifications on our psyche, our spirit, can be devastating. So, we just stay put. It may totally suck where we've settled, but it's familiar. We know what to expect. The problem is, it's mostly bad shit. But it's more comfortable for us. Knowing what to expect lets us know to prepare our bodies and minds for the vortex of pain that usually comes when living and experiencing that "bad shit". (I really wanted to drive the point home here...not too dramatic, I hope, with "vortex".)
That's the way it was for me. I was miserable. Arguably, we both were. But I was debilitated by the fear of the unknown. And accepting of the known however distressing it was for me. My mind and, subsequently, my body got into a routine of preparing itself for the worst. Constantly. Although cortisol is an important hormone, particularly when it comes to our "fight or flight" mode, excessive amounts of it at sustained levels can have destructive affects on the body. When we're in a depressed and sorrowful situation, we're in that "fight or flight" mode. We're always prepared to fight our way out of a complete bullshit argument over dishes or to fly the hell out of that inevitable quarrel and seek refuge somewhere, anywhere, else and thus avoiding the real issue altogether. I'm confident my cortisol levels were high. All the time. Yet even after the separation occurred, I desperately wanted to be back in that defective relationship for no other reason than because it was familiar. Comfortable per se.
Yet, without having read her blog before, I did what my sweet friend was sharing and advocating. I took a chance. On me and what I wanted and needed. And I lived. Am living.
If you are there, in a place where you are gripped by fear or moored in a bad spot because you're "comfortable", get up, get out...and take a chance. On yourself. On someone else. Rise up. Live. Your life is out there waiting for you.
P.S. A heartfelt thank you to her. Her own message was an inspiration for mine.
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