Acceptable Risks

Last spring, Randy and I spent a sweet afternoon on our front porch with Ken, one of our more out-of-the-box, too rarely seen friends. It was a rainy day, but the air was heavy and warm and the three of us we were well-sheltered from the drizzle. We talked and talked and talked some more. The conversation was so good I left my rocker only long enough to keep our coffee mugs filled with strong, hot brew. The time was precious. Perfect. It was one of those memorable afternoons, a frozen few hours passed with a friend, the kind of day that leave you feeling like life is just what it's supposed to be.

Ken had recently bought his first motorcycle and he'd ridden it from his apartment in Dallas to visit us. I know little about such machines, but Ken's new bike looked to me to be the mother of all motorcycles -- a monsterous, beautiful, black BMW with every possible bell and whistle.

"Do you feel safe on it?" I, who have seen my share of mangled, road-burned riders, asked.

"Nope. Not really. I'm a middle-aged man just learning to ride," Ken said. "Drivers like me are among those most likely to have serious accidents. I'm careful. I took safety classes. But I don't kid myself. Riding is risky."

"But it's worth it to you?"

"Yep. I love it. More than anything. Annette, look at my life. I have no wife. No children. No one dependent upon me. If something happens to me, no will will suffer because of it."

"I don't know about that," I said.

"You know what I mean."

Yes. I did.

"If I have a wreck and don't make it, know I died having a great time. Don't think I'd have regrets or that I'd do anything over again differently. I want to live life. Doing that is not always safe."

~

I've thought back to that conversation many times. It has come to me as I think about the hikers who recently died on Mount Hood. I can't help but wonder. Would they do it differently? Would they have lived their lives more safely if given a second chance?

How do you balance good common sense with the desire for adventure? Does it matter if you have dependent children? What about aging parents? A spouse?

What is acceptable risk and what is not?

Skydiving?
Mountain climbing?
Bungie jumping?

What about traveling to an unstable overseas country to care for the poor?
Taking care of AIDS patients?
Picking up a hitchhiker?
Donating a kidney?

All my life I've erred on the side of taking a risk rather than staying safe. I'd like to think it has to do with some deep spiritual truth I've learned, but that's probably not the case. The reality is something more like this: I am more fearful of a cautious, predictable existense, of missing out on something new and different than I am of death.