Unlearning to play it safe...

When we are little our parents caution us to be careful. The reason being is a simple one. They do not want to see us get hurt. As we grow up we do tend to become more and more cautious. Teenagers can be risky but for the most part they are aware of danger and generally steer clear of it. Of course, there are always the exceptions. As there are in adulthood. As we grow up and turn from teenagers into young adults entering the workforce, learning to take care of ourselves and live on our own, we grow more cautious still. We understand responsibility and repercussion. We have bills to pay, have bosses to report to and instead of us relying on our parents we have people relying on us. We can't be late for work or deadlines or our bosses get upset, we learn. We can't be late with our bills or credit cards or our collectors get upset, we learn. We learn how to juggle and finagle and exist on our own. We become quite proficient at it and we become quite pleased with ourselves. We learn to eat properly and cook - We know that pizza and beer are not considered to be well rounded meals. And while we do not avoid them altogether we learn to make proper well balanced meals with friends and roommates. We learn to clean our apartments (for the most part!) and we learn to do our laundry (for the most part!) We have (for the most part!) transitioned into well adjusted and well performing young adults. If we happen to stay out too late partying one night and wake up paying the price for it the next day, we learn how to alter and modify our behaviours, or at the very least we save them for the weekend. In our responsibility we become more and more safe. True, many of us are natural chance and risk takers, and many of us are not. As the years pass those of us who were risk takers in our youth have become much less so later on. Why is this? I suppose it is because there is too much at stake. We have spouses and we have family. We have children who need and depend on us. We can't have anything happen that might shake that all up. We can't disrupt the comfort and ease of a "perfect life" - whatever a "perfect life" may be.

When I was 30 I had an accident in the Bahamas. It happened in the ocean. The surf was fierce but the weather was lovely, as it was the day before a big storm was due to hit us. I stood in front of this massive wave so much larger and so much taller than I was. I looked at it contemplatively and wondered what to do. It was too close for me to run back to shore. I decided that it was too large to body surf and so I decided to dive under it. But I misjudged the timing and instead the wave tackled me with more force than a Patriot Quaterback and tossed me back. I landed squarely on my left shoulder. I heard and felt a significant pop. I struggled to find my footing and stood up and shouted to my then husband. I could barely talk let alone breathe. With each and every passing second, minute and hour the pain become more and more excruciating. I could tell immediately by the look on his face that something was terribly wrong. And I shouldn't have, but I did. I looked. And where my shoulder should have been was a big hollow. My arm was literally hanging by tendons.

Problem #1 was getting me off the beach. I could barely stand let alone walk. It hurt to stand, sit and even lie down. Problem #2 was waiting for an ambulance in, which for all intents and purposes is very much a third world country. Problem #3 was getting me to the hospital in the ambulance that finally, several hours later, arrived, over the unpaved and very rocky dirt roads that would eventually belong to the Atlantis resort. Everything about this experience was dreadful.

I had not been taking any chances that day. I had not been taking any risks. I was simply in the ocean having fun. (I am, by the way, a very strong swimmer, but none of that mattered and none of that helped.) That accident, however, forced me to be safe... not by my choice, but by the choice of my then husband. The dislocation was severe. Severe enough that my arm dislocated repeatedly after that, and severe enough to warrant my needing shoulder surgery three years ago. I didn't let my dislocations slow me down initially. I wanted to go ice skating one day and my then husband thought it was not the best idea. I wanted to go skiing and my then husband thought that was a bad idea too. He didn't want me hurt, you see. He didn't want me injured because then who would take care of the children. While I am sure he didn't mean it that way - it was what he meant. And so, for my marriage, I really couldn't do anything physically "risky." In the end, I am quite certain, it was the final dislocation, after a bad fall resulting from slipping on spilled coffee, that my marriage ended. It would have been more fun, let's say to have dislocated while skiing or ice skating than merely slipping on a spilled mug of coffee. But that was the final straw. The straw that broke the camel's back, or more appropriately, the fall that broke my shoulder.

Xrays and my orthopedic surgeon revealed that the shoulder was in such disrepair that I would need surgery. I was told this was optional. I could have it then or I could wait and have it after then next dislocation. There would be, I was told, shown and explained, many further dislocations in my future as there was nothing holding my shoulder in place. I opted for the surgery. I couldn't bare to go through yet another violent injury. And, I asked myself, what if it happened while I was alone with the children, or at the beach, or away on vacation? No, I had to have it. I knew I did. I made the right decision and I have never regretted it and never looked back. I have my freedom back. I have my motion back. But, my then husband was not pleased with my decision and he voiced it along with the reasons why. But who controls my body? And who can tell me what to do with it? Deciding to have the surgery was the first time I really stood on my feet and and made my own decision. I took the chance of not following his advice. In the end I paid the price. I paid the price of a failed marriage and I paid the price (all on my own without any help, spousal or parental) of my own surgery. That was the first time I did not play it safe by deciding to make my own decisions.

There's no need to talk about the following two years other than the fact to say that they were not pleasant. There gets to be a point in one's life when things are so bad that one must find a solution. I decided to play it unsafe again. And as a result I am here today... Proud of all that I have done. Proud of all that I have become and proud of all that I am becoming. Maybe the safest thing to do was to not play it safe. Maybe it was the most daring thing to do. Whatever it was, I took a chance, a leap of faith and had I not I never would have seen what was on the other side. It was then I started to unlearn how to play it safe.

And I have been practicing ever since. Not shirking responsibilities and never at the expense of my own children. But in so doing - in learning to be unsafe, that is - I am taking chances and trying new things and having new experiences and meeting new people and none of this would have happened or would happen if I kept playing it safe. And had I been safe, and while I was indeed playing it safe, I wasn't really living my life... I was watching from the sidelines. Now, of course I am not telling anyone to do act irresponsibly or dangerously, but most of us could stand to step out of our comfort zone... to take off some of the padding and take a chance and playing it unsafe.

And because of my experiences I am encouraging my children to do the same... especially my older ones. They are old enough to use and trust their judgement but even at their tender ages I see them settling into their own comfort zones and I am defying them not to... I am pushing them, nudging them to step out and have some (safe) fun and some great (safe) experiences. We have just one life, let's live it to the fullest!.

XOXO,

Jessica