let's talk about risk

For me, the New Year always heralds that fresh-sheets-on-the-bed feeling. Previous nights’ popcorn kernels, holiday chocolate wrappers, and rumpled, disheveled pillowcases all dealt with—the laundered linens smoothed and clean-scented. A bed Marie Kondo would be proud to call her own.

January 1st is that turned page. That blank slate. All the clichés. Years ago, I marked the day with writing-related resolutions. I would write and sell a novel at a breakneck pace. I would compose or edit at least 500 words a day, every day. I would pitch three stories or essays a month. And so on. Dry January-type vows that fizzled by Groundhog’s Day.

Somewhere around half-past pandemic, I realized that my efforts were like that proverbial hamster. Working hard to stay in the same place. Instead of leaping out of my comfort zone, I preferred to stretch the boundaries of it. Time to take inventory.

Looking back at the milestones of my life, every time I took a biggish risk (and by risk I mean willfully inviting discomfort), I’ve become richer. Richer in perspective, joy, and truth.

The most concrete and far-reaching example: in 1989, I moved my freshly-widowed self and two toddlers from San Diego to Portland, where I knew exactly one person—the mother of a friend I’d met in a support group for young widows. The decision was made after a quick road trip through the Pacific Northwest, kiddos in tow. All the way back down the I-5 to my Solana Beach rental (only $900/month back then. Two blocks to the beach!), I debated the risk, and ultimately made the call via my gut (although in my case, my gut is more akin to my nasal passages, but that’s because I’m a weirdo).

Was this twenty-something woman (me, in 1989) foolish or brave?

In the literary form known as the Hero’s Journey, risk is most often at play in the second stage: the call to adventure. In the normative world, this is when a daydream tickles your fancy, and you find yourself indulging in the pros and cons of turning a dream into reality. 90% of the time (stats completely made up by yours truly), you’ll reject that call. Sobriety and common sense leading you back to the safety of the familiar.

Now, despite my decision in 1989, I will say that age has made me increasingly risk-averse:

• Downhill skiing? What if I break something?

• Driving at night? My rods and cones aren’t what they used to be.

The pandemic (as well as several family members dying way too young) likely increased this tendency in me. As the 2020 death toll climbed on the daily, we were all essentially housebound or Hazmat-clad for our milk runs. Remember disinfecting boxes of pasta?

In the beginning of 2024, I began to examine my increasing arsenal of phobias. The patina of Corona-anxiety had left me wary of gatherings and adventures. Of new things in general. I realized that with a book coming out in May, and a major European travel adventure scheduled for September, I needed to look at my relationship to risk and its insidious cousin, fear.

The results? Attendance at several promotional gatherings for Bitterroot, including three regional bookseller presentations, several book launching events, hosting writing workshops, adventuring through the Dolomites and navigating several countries by rail. Not to mention starting a weight-training program to forestall osteoporosis (I had to overcome my fear of looking like an idiot hoisting baby five pound dumbbells). Ugh! Oh, and let’s not forget joining pickleball jumbles where I’m defending a court from the lethal hits of the 4.0 bangers!

In the category productivity, I finalized and submitted two novels for 2025 and 2026 releases (one of which, The Bequest, already has a cover!). And my latest leap from the protective covering of my established working life: accepting the offer to lead Sibylline Press’s editorial department (more on that newest of developments, soon).

a little South Tyrol trekking

Will I ever ski down a black diamond bowl or take trapeze flying lessons? Nope. But I’ll be forever on guard against my tendency toward fear-based inertia, which, in my experience, begets more of the same.

Taking any risks this year? Do tell.