Risk Is Always Better Than Regret
Risk is the feisty mariachi band that drowns out regret’s funeral dirges
Risk is the feisty mariachi band that drowns out regret’s funeral dirges
Today’s freedom trail is sponsored by a symphony of cicadas losing their minds in the tangerine sunset. I’m sipping an IPA that tastes like a sultry pine forest making love to a grassy meadow while pondering life’s great queries:
Why do my socks never match?
Will I ever stop overcommitting to social plans just to impress internet strangers?
And most perplexing of all — is risk really better than regret?
The answer is yes!
A life shackled by the fear of what “could go wrong” is a life half-lived. Allow me to squeeze lemon drops of wisdom into your cherished mind grapes:
Risk is the feisty mariachi band that drowns out Regret’s funeral dirges. It’s the neon pink mohawk that screams, “I’m here to party, not politely sip lemon water!”
I know, I know — you’re wincing like a newborn aardvark blinking at the sun. “But Devesh,” you whimper, cupping a trembling coffee between gender-neutral hands, “What if I quit my corporate jockstrap job to pursue my dream ., of./ professional… gulps …yodeling?”
Breathe! That’s the breathtaking beauty of risk. It barges into your tidy life like a drunken circus bear, upending your IKEA shelves and chucking your preconceived notions into the compost bin of “who cares?!”
Don’t be that killjoy who sings in the dreary church choir of regret, chanting, “Ohh, if only I had…” Blech! That mournful mantra is the sonic embodiment of a gas station bathroom.
Unlock the freedom of leaping before logically logicing. Sure, your parachute might be a garish Christmas sweater accidentally stuffed with clean socks. But at least you’re freefalling towards the crispy horizon of new experiences!
Zap that zit-faced, pizza-stained teenage mindset that babbles, “I should’ve asked Ricki-Jo Bumpkins to the prom.” Dude, Ricki-Jo definitely peaked at prom. Her name says it all — she’s currently guzzling boxed wine and scrapbooking her glory daze.
You, however, have a whole other level of gloriousness awaiting! But only if you Zamboni through those toxic thought bubbles of doubt and hesitation.
Risks birth the most savory adventures — absurdly cloud-watching with raccoons, teaching seals to juggle on Venice Beach, publishing semi-coherent rants about the virtues of audacious living.
So next time your clammy palms grow heavy with indecision, remember:
You’re not risking it all. You’re finally tasting it all.
That treacly cream filling inside the Ding Dong of existence.
If you choke on fear and chug regret’s lukewarm bathwater, you’ll be one of those hollow husks watching IKEA instruction videos at 3 am, pondering where it all went so deliciously, dangerously right.
Devour risks like fresh tandoori naan! Chase those tantalizing flames of new experiences, skipping gaily through the wildfire of life. Take huge, sloppy bites out of this crazy burrito we call existence.
And who knows? Maybe you’ll get salsa scorchingly squirted in your eye. But at least you’ll wake up with epic stories about battling the awesome abyss, rather than dying of boredom after bellyaching about all the things you “shoulda, coulda, woulda” done.
✍ — Published by Libby Shively McAvoy at Dancing Elephants Press. Click here for submission guidelines.