forget safety; love wildly

I haven’t ever been that girl who is careful with her heart. I’m too impulsive to take a step back from a situation and consider the emotional damage I may bring upon myself. More than that, I’ve never been one for passing up the chance for something great. Maybe that makes me brave, or maybe that makes me stupid. Jury’s still out, to be honest. The point is that safety, especially regarding my emotional well-being, has never been a priority of mine.

I am a tall girl with a lot of emotions, and I’ve never had an issue displaying them. Emotional regularity? Don’t know her. I don’t worry about being too much or keeping my emotions in check. I ride the wave and let everyone know about it. The depression fog I’ve been in for almost two months now? Trust me, I have not been hiding it. Spending essentially the entire month of July listlessly lying in bed and staring at the ceiling for twelve hours, then turning the lights off and doing the same thing until I fall asleep is not hiding the depression fog. The fog has finally lifted enough for me to have the energy to actively talk about it, but anyone who has tried to live with me or interact with me in any way figured out very quickly that I was Not Okay. I’m fine with that, though. It’s okay to not be okay, or whatever.

Living a safe life does not interest me. Even though I literally had an hour-and-a-half-long conversation with someone two days ago about how I should really start thinking before I act, I have no interest in actually doing so. Not just because the one time I actually listened to that nagging voice inside my head that said, “Oh, this will hurt if it goes wrong, and you know it will, so please just don’t do the thing,” managed to blow up in my face so SPECTACULARLY that all I can do is laugh at the fact my life has become cannon fodder for romantic comedies and/or Greek tragedies (no seriously, if you’re an aspiring playwright, let me sell you the rights to my latest issues because they’re going to make you A LOT of money). If “I tried it once and it didn’t work out for me,” was the reason I have shunned the idea of protecting my heart, there’d be no point telling you about it.

No, I have no interest in living a safe life, because a safe life is a boring life. Yes, my life is currently a flaming garbage fire because I lack foresight. Yes, it would be nice to not live in a constant state of heart break. Yes, it sucks to know that my actions will cause me grief and then decide to follow through with them anyway. But you know what? My life is a never-ending adventure, and I am having so much fun. I know it seems contradictory, because what can be fun about being chewed up and spit out unceasingly? Well, I’m glad you asked; let me tell you about it.

Because I am not afraid to be hurt, I am not afraid to do crazy things. I’m not afraid to accept scary opportunities, like my new job of teaching Special Ed English I, when I have no clue if they’ll work out. I’m not concerned that I spent a month in a depression fog, because things got (and will continue to get) better. I’m able to chase every wild hare that comes my way–like writing a book (which I’m currently kicking ass at, if I do say so myself) or going on blind dates (which hasn’t really worked out for me yet, but I remain optimistic). Because I am not concerned about my own safety, I get to throw all caution to the wind and dive headfirst into everything, and it’s so incredibly freeing to get to do so.

I love wildly and recklessly and foolishly. I wear my heart on my sleeve. Plenty of people tried to teach me to be more aloof and withholding, but it never stuck. I wasn’t made that way. I am impulsive and optimistic and whimsical. I fall in love freely and easily. “Childlike enthusiasm” is my most defining character trait. I rush into things head first before thinking them through, and I don’t doubt my choices once I make them. It usually ends in tears, but that’s okay. Salt water is cleansing, and everyone needs a good cry every now and then.

I do not want a safe life. I want to feel, to experience, everything life has to offer. For better or for worse. I want to ride every high that comes with a risk paying off–the bigger the risk, the bigger the high. I want to revel in the feeling of anticipation that comes with taking chances. I want to pick myself up from rock bottom. I want to get knocked down a peg or two. I want to get by on pure, dumb luck. I want to have a meaningful life, and I can’t do that I’m not willing to get hurt.

Forget safety; love wildly.


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