The other day I had a thought…
When do we stop being fearless?
As a child I remember climbing the tree in my front yard as high as the branches would hold me. I was way up high, even with the second-floor windows of our house. Even though I was super afraid of heights. I even fell out of the tree several times, and it never phased me. I swung around the branches like a monkey. Climbed up, jumped out into a pile of leaves and then did it all over again.
And don’t get me started on how I rode my bike. We lived on a hill and I’d go up to the top and race all the way down without a helmet. I went as fast as I could, enjoying the wind on my face. At the bottom of the hill I would screech to a stop and then go back up and do it over and over until I was exhausted. Even after I wrecked in the street and busted my knee open.
On the playground I’d climb over everything. On top of the monkey bars and all around the jungle gym. I’d hang upside down and jump off of anything. But now…
But now, it seems I’m hesitant and afraid of so many things.
Don’t climb too high, don’t drive too fast, don’t go where it’s dark, don’t go alone.
So, when did this happen? Sure, there’s the common sense factor that kicks in; when you realize that you might hurt yourself when you try something crazy. But does that slowly eat away at urge to ever do the crazy things? The desire to experience the thrill diminishes over time and you stay where you’re safe. But why? You didn’t get hurt too badly as a child or else you wouldn’t have made it to the present, right? Why not be a little crazy?
Just a thought.