So I’ve recently discovered that mosquito spray is dangerous to the health, who would have thunk?
When I left my friend Martha’s house tonight, the mosquito abatement crew had just misted the neighborhood. Silly me, I should have stayed in the safety of the house, becuase the spray that kills bugs tried to kill me. I had the worst asthma attack I’ve had in years (we’re talking Ginger swerving through traffic to race a purple tinged Alex to the hospital style of asthma attack, it wasn’t pretty). I didn’t realize it was getting bad until I was almost home, and then I had the internal debate to try and take care of myself or just drive straight to the E.R. I decided to take myself inside, where my new roommate made me some hot water and I used over a months worth of inhalers to calm my lungs down. Disaster averted, but it was not fun.
So as much fun as it can be to read my stories of breathless white knuckle driving, it gives me the perfect excuse for writing about life and its risks. I’ve gotten very frustrated thinking about the risks I take every day and how much I worry about safety. Granted, worry about safety at a chemical plant is completely warranted, I’m not knocking work safety here. But I get an earful from family whenever I talk about climbing, biking, skiing, driving in Texas traffic; doing all the memory creating activities that bring joy.
I understand these are “dangerous activities” but in this life isn’t couch surfing or even driving home considered a “dangerous activity”?
I’m reading a great book right now about a man who challenges all the assumptions of the American culture. He tells a tragic tale of how his horse dies, and honestly it broke my heart. Eustace fell in love with a horse, and he and this horse journeyed across the country, setting a world record. The horse and he loved adventure, they experienced something few people ever have or will. After their amazing journey, Eustace took the horse home and he lived a normal horse life, in a barn going for short easy rides. One day while out riding, he stumbled over a small stone, fell and shattered his femur, 100 YARDS from the barn. Thus, Eustace’s love died. This horse had crossed perilous terrain, survived epic conditions, and ran free. It broke my heart a little to think that he could have missed out on all that for fear of tripping over a stone in his own backyard.
So, I fear getting hurt climbing or skiing. I dread getting hurt doing one of life’s everyday activities like walking, driving, or breathing. Life is precious and fragile. Can I respect and protect at the same time?
