I’m not a big risk taker. Physical risk, that is. While I may sign myself up for some seemingly-psychotic feat of athleticism (did you know I’ve climbed up to the top of both the Hancock and the Sears Towers? Yeah, the stairs.*), I’m no daredevil. I have a pretty keen appreciation for my spine and do what I can to protect it. Plus, I’m a pansy with blood.
Prior to my current living situation, I lived on my own for two years. If something was housed on a high shelf, I was the only one around who could get it down. Nine months ago, Will moved into my condo. Since then, he’s the appointed tall-shelf-reacher.
Not that his presence stops me from leaping up on the occasional chair.
Being with Will makes me a touch more open to the occasional (mild) risk. Whenever I’m faced with even a remote potential for peril, Will is at my side guiding me back to safety. Knowing that someone is concerned every time I chop vegetables with a sharp knife or use my hands to guide carrot peelings into the garbage disposal only heightens the thrill. While I’m not looking to purposely maim myself, Will’s concern fills me with warm fuzzies.
*To answer the most frequent questions I get about climbing the 103 floors to the top of the Sears Tower: 30 minutes. It sucked.