Chances


What do you say to taking chances, What do you say to jumping off the edge? Never knowing if there’s solid ground below - Celine Dion

I’m standing at the edge. My heels firmly planted in the ground. My toes wiggling in the breeze; curling over the edge of life as I know it and the life I haven’t been brave enough to try.

I’ve been here before. Except it looked different. It always does. I’ve taken a plunge before. Into the big pond. I’ve harnessed myself in and climbed the mountain. I’ve stepped up to the plate and hit it out of the park.

But every single time I don’t look before I land, I open myself up to vulnerability, the fear of failure.

I’d like to say I take chances, that I’m a risk taker who lives for the thrill. That would be a lie that I cannot tell. Truth of the matter is, I struggle with planning not to plan. I rarely throw caution to the wind. Because I like the structure of to-do lists, schedules, routines, agendas, and Google calendars too much. And that’s my problem. Sure, recently I’ve taken some chances. But really, they were well-planned and executed to a T. Of course, they were difficult and required numerous conversations, thinking, and prayer, but I made them. I’m living with them. Thing is, they were the easy choices to choose. And what I’m facing, what I’ve faced before – is not.

Maybe I’m more cautious because other times have resulted in paramedic rides, new floor plans, and the same-old-same-old. Or maybe I’m more willing to stand on the edge because I’ve been there before and I know that it did not break me. It just made me stronger.

So even though a big, black question mark is stamped on the pages of many future days, I still fear the chances I am toying with taking. The chances that would erase all those question marks. Silly, right? Why would I fear the very things that could change my future? The things that could make it bigger, better, and brighter. Simple. It’s still not set in stone. It’s still a roll of the dice, a heads-or-tails, a catch-a-spider-by-the-toe scenario. And that keeps me from stepping off the ledge to see if I’m going to fly of flail. I blame it on my perfectionism. I blame it on my sensibility. I blame it on myself. Because ultimately it means I don’t trust enough to swing my legs over the boat and walk on water toward the only person who can keep me from drowning.

Anyone have a set of dice?

______________________________________________________

I ask. You answer.

  1. What’s the best chance you ever took? How did it make you feel when you took it and it worked?
  2. Do you have actual physical side effects when you’re facing big decisions and about to pick up the dice?
  3. Anyone you know or have known who can just pull a number out of a hat and live with that decision?
  4. Underlying issue in this whole thing is trust, or lack thereof. Is it two-faced or human nature to say I trust 100% completely and then turn around and doubt?
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