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In the wilderness of risk-taking, I’ve always pitched my tent in the Brontë camp. In fact, “look twice” is an understatement; I scan, scrutinize, and dissect all options and possible outcomes in every direction when considering any decision, especially one with even a whiff of risk. It’s exhausting.
So in honor of Leap Day (and because trusting the universe HAS to be a better way to live than depleting my reserves by imagining all possible lamentable outcomes of making the “wrong” choice), I make this public vow to lean away from Brontë and join Burroughs around his campfire. I even have a marshmallow at the ready for roasting, the details of which I will reveal in a later post; watch this space for further developments.
In the meantime, I ask myself: What’s the
worst best that can happen?