Today, during lunch with a group of former colleagues, one of them made an observation about risk that resonated with me. As someone who skis, hikes, bikes, drives, flies and loves to travel, risk has not been high on my list of worries. Or, subconsciously, has it?
"As I get older," he said, "the risks seem riskier." That put into perspective feelings of anxiety I've been having. I recently told my Montreal relatives that it was unlikely we'd drive up from Philadelphia for the holidays, a tradition of several years. Last year, on our way home, we skidded off the road. I don't relish tempting slick highways again. I nag at my husband to drive more slowly. (He, in return, accuses me of driving "like an old lady.")
Are our growing concerns about risk because we realize that there is so much more to lose? For one, our bodies are less able to bounce back from injury. For another, if we're lucky and now have grandchildren, we'd like to see them grow up.
My friend tied his thoughts about risk to his increasing unwillingness to move out of his large, longtime house in order to downsize. Why, he said, should he take the risk of moving from a community he has nurtured for the last 36 years to one where he would have to start all over? "The longer I'm here, the harder it is to move," he said.
Hmm... We've been in our house 40 years, the last decade of which we have thought about moving.
At the same time that cocooning seems to be working to envelope me, I know I must keep fighting to break free and take risks that bring excitement, diversion, and adventure. Risks that keep me engaged, indeed, young.
Perhaps that's why we've begun to thread the risk/reward needle.
For one, we don't travel independently as often as we once did, driving on unfamiliar roads in unfamiliar countries where people speak unfamiliar languages. Instead, we go with organized groups and let a guide and driver lead our explorations
We caved after many decades of skiing in knitted hats and invested in helmets, though we told ourselves it was to set an example for the grandkids.
And last year I bought Yaktraks to clip on our boots so we don't slip in winter -- though we have yet to put them on.
Over Thanksgiving, with 10 grandkids and grand nieces and nephews in the house, I was careful to watch for toys underfoot. (A close friend recently broke her wrist in multiple places after stepping on a toy truck while kissing her grandson goodnight.)
But there is reward in confronting such risk in our big old house: having the place and space to bring a large and loving family together. I would risk everything for that.
"As I get older," he said, "the risks seem riskier." That put into perspective feelings of anxiety I've been having. I recently told my Montreal relatives that it was unlikely we'd drive up from Philadelphia for the holidays, a tradition of several years. Last year, on our way home, we skidded off the road. I don't relish tempting slick highways again. I nag at my husband to drive more slowly. (He, in return, accuses me of driving "like an old lady.")
Are our growing concerns about risk because we realize that there is so much more to lose? For one, our bodies are less able to bounce back from injury. For another, if we're lucky and now have grandchildren, we'd like to see them grow up.
My friend tied his thoughts about risk to his increasing unwillingness to move out of his large, longtime house in order to downsize. Why, he said, should he take the risk of moving from a community he has nurtured for the last 36 years to one where he would have to start all over? "The longer I'm here, the harder it is to move," he said.
Hmm... We've been in our house 40 years, the last decade of which we have thought about moving.
At the same time that cocooning seems to be working to envelope me, I know I must keep fighting to break free and take risks that bring excitement, diversion, and adventure. Risks that keep me engaged, indeed, young.
Perhaps that's why we've begun to thread the risk/reward needle.
For one, we don't travel independently as often as we once did, driving on unfamiliar roads in unfamiliar countries where people speak unfamiliar languages. Instead, we go with organized groups and let a guide and driver lead our explorations
We caved after many decades of skiing in knitted hats and invested in helmets, though we told ourselves it was to set an example for the grandkids.
And last year I bought Yaktraks to clip on our boots so we don't slip in winter -- though we have yet to put them on.
Over Thanksgiving, with 10 grandkids and grand nieces and nephews in the house, I was careful to watch for toys underfoot. (A close friend recently broke her wrist in multiple places after stepping on a toy truck while kissing her grandson goodnight.)
But there is reward in confronting such risk in our big old house: having the place and space to bring a large and loving family together. I would risk everything for that.
