Risk

Risk. That hits like a 4 letter word in the heart of little me. Forget the f-word; risk was the Grim Reaper of my youth. The only risks I took as a kid were the ones life forced me into through a friend or grown up I didn’t want to disappoint or because I put something off so long that inevitability was labeled as risk.

I made this piece for my kids, I made it to remind myself, and I made it for anyone out there who may or may not be sitting in rumpled pjs and Doritos cheese dust frozen in indecision.

I still get queasy, dry mouth and jitters for days, and do double and triple checks over my shoulder to spot my support team. I wish I had more risk energy. Not the Insta boss babe energy fueled by Monster energy drinks and capitalistic rise and grind mindset, but the kind that makes a beeline for curiosity instead of panic.

Embedded in risk are the choices we like to pretend don’t exist. Choices requiring us to build a muscle we usually skip at the gym. Choosing, trying, and exploring have cursed me with some sleepless nights; they have also given me a better understanding of how I show up in the world. And once I nudge my stomach out of my throat, I get colors and courage I can take to the bank.