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BY JENNIFER SILVERMAN
Some time ago, I read about a woman who had endured a tragic year.
She bid farewell to her former forever home, the source of her youthful, white picket fence dreams.
To shake the expectations of a future that was no longer her reality, she also resigned from a long-held position for which she had always been proud.
At the start of a new year, this 50-something professional was starting over. On the precipice of a new life chapter, her commitment to herself was simple – take chances to begin again. She pledged that for six months, she would take at least one risk per day.
She considered the practice of developing her risk taking skills a welcome distraction that would propel her towards a fulfilling, fascinating new life.
Some of her risks were small, like swapping her black coffee for a mocha latte. And some risks required guts, like inviting new colleagues to join her for that mocha latte. (Oh, and skydiving.)
After six months, she looked back on an exciting but nerve-racking period that kept her on her toes and introduced her to new friendships, perspectives, and caffeinated beverages.
These experiences enabled her to focus on all she was gaining rather than what she'd lost. (They also prevented her from spending much of her waking evening and weekend hours binge watching The Real Housewives.)
It's been many moons since I read about this brave lady, but her commitment to taking risks to reboot her life has been on my mind.
Thinking back, I suppose I’ve taken quite a few flyers over the course of my thirty-seven years, most of which I didn’t realize were risky at the time.
Leaving Kentucky for fashion school in Manhattan at age 18 precipitated a decade of dice-rolling, especially since I hadn't even ventured to sleep away camp prior to that move.
Many of the everyday risks I took during my career as a TV wardrobe stylist didn’t register as such.
Case in point, I routinely selected and transported red carpet jewelry to broadcasting clients. I often placed millions of dollars of sparklers in my massive Louis Vuitton Neverfull tote and then hailed a cab to deliver the baubles as though I was merely carting lunch - not priceless jewelry.
In fact, my NYC methods of transportation were all somewhat hairy in their own right. How I managed to schlep heavy garment bags and overflowing suitcases (that were easily double my size and weight) around the city, I still don’t know.
My more recent risks are less colorful than those during my fashionista days.
Many are like my recent revelation that I’d been driving around on a flat tire for two weeks without knowing it. (Thank goodness for run-on flats.)
Although I certainly took many risks to stand up for my pre-and post-divorce rights, I suspect I still have much to learn from our risk-taker role model.
A few coffee outings of my own would surely broaden my horizons and enable me to pen a far more rewarding next chapter for myself.
Although I have no interest in skydiving, I do hope to become a courageous, deliberate risk taker. (Switching up my caffeinated beverages is off the table though – only Chai tea lattes for yours truly.)
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