Risk be damned

I watched the CBS Sunday Morning show this morning, as I typically try to do every Sunday morning, and today Ben Stein's commentary had significant impact. It was about happy people vs. unhappy people, and how you end up in one category or the other. Essentially, the happy ones

"decided to do what their hearts told them to do, to do what was in them to do. They took risks and they took chances, and they tried a lot of different things until they got to where they wanted to be.

This very often means working incredibly hard and living on the edge. But it gets you to where you can look back on your life and say it wasn't wasted."

While his inadvertent moral support got me pumped to be a poet and to be among the few Americans who follow their hearts and stay true to themselves, it got me thinking about alternate meanings of "risk" and why I feel I might puke for the duration of the 6 hour drive on moving day. (Well, it's all stuff I've thought of before, but now I'm vocalizing it.)

I'm not scared that my endeavor will fail. I have no question about my capabilities and my future success. Granted, there are a lot of gray areas in my process because I'm really shooting in the dark, having never attempted something this life-changing before. But I'm not afraid of failure in that sense. Good things will come of this. I'll establish a good career that I enjoy, and I'll meet amazing people. And I know that this is what I need to do; this is who I am.

But what happens to everyone I leave behind? How many will I never see again? In what ways will we grow apart? Will they get used to not having me around? Will I get used to not being around? Will we replace each other? The principal risk lies with the people I love, and I wonder how far-reaching will be the impact of my move.

You see, it's not that I can't live without them; I just don't see the point.