I don’t like taking risks. Too often I’ve seen people taking risks, such as with their investments, because as “everyone” knows, the bigger the risk, the greater the rewards. Except, of course, when those risks don’t deliver the sure thing people are expecting. Quite frankly, I’m not sure “everyone” knows what a risk is — if they don’t get the outcome their bravery at taking the risk seems to call for, then they’re shocked and they get upset. But that’s what a risk is — you take a chance, and it might work out or it might not.
In my case, I never take a risk if I can’t handle the negative outcome. Which means, I don’t take risks.
And yet . . .
I’ve done a few things that other people considered extremely risky, though I didn’t. Ten years ago, when I planned a cross-country trip in my vintage VW bug, people were horrified and kept telling me I couldn’t do it, that it was too dangerous for me to go alone. Of course, none of those people offered to go with me to mitigate the danger, but it wouldn’t have mattered. The point was for me to do it by myself.
I wasn’t foolish about the trip. I had my car restored, a new engine put in, bought reliable camping equipment, and stocked up on emergency supplies for when unexpected and perhaps dangerous things might happen. And dangerous things did happen, but I handled whatever came along. To me, it was all part of the adventure, that willingness to go wherever the road took me and to live with the uncertainty (and consequences) of each day. Even more than that, it was a way of reclaiming my life after the death of both Jeff and my father. (After Jeff died, I was left homeless, so I went to take care of my father, and after he died, I was left homeless again.)
Perhaps the trip was a risk, but I didn’t see it as such. I wouldn’t do a long trip again, though just writing this I think maybe . . . someday . . . Still, the car is ten years older, as am I, and I’m not willing to put myself in the danger a trip could bring, not just the driving danger, but the uncertainty of the situations I might encounter — the USA isn’t the same as it was ten years ago, and even back then there were times I wasn’t sure what country I was in.
Besides, I’m homeful now, not homeless, so there is a lot more at risk than there was a decade ago.
Another risk I took was when I bought this house sight unseen. I’d seen photos, of course, and had an inspector check out the house, but I never saw it as a risk. The way I figured, it was my house, and I’d do whatever needed to be done. Other people were appalled at what they thought was my lackadaisical outlook, and the realtor made me sign a document absolving her of any responsibility if things didn’t work out.
I don’t regret either of these risks. Both worked out, but however they would have worked out, they would have worked out. I’m just glad, and so very thankful, to have had both these experiences.
Nope, no regrets at all!
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Pat Bertram is the author of Grief: The Inside Story – A Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Loved One.
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