The Risk of Avoiding Risk

I'm watching my mind squirm and wriggle now. It's wants to escape. But it can't go anywhere without me. And I won't let it. I won't agree to what it wants. The experience is a little like a resolute parent watching with folded arms while their child tantrums on the floor.

The part of me that protests is very ancient. Very primitive. And very, very wise. It's not me really, but instead simply the part of my brain developed of millions of years of survival. It's the part of me that's survived every single life and generation from my parents right back to the protozoa which were our common ancestor. This part of me knows danger. Knows how to spot it. Knows what to do to stay safe. And screams at me now to run away.

The warning voice is telling me not to go out to the desert tonight. It remembers the awful experience two weeks back. It know the heat, and dehydration, and solitude which are waiting to wring my age-weakened body like a sponge.

I won't listen… And though I respect and appreciate that warning voice, and the vast epochs of time which give its shrill words credence. I think I know better now what's good for me. I know there are far worse things than mere suffering or death. The Risk of Avoiding Risk.

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