Dear reader,
Human beings move toward pleasure and away from pain, right?
Like fun we do.
We often move toward pain.
We just coat it with pleasure.
We make even the prospect of pain
into a pleasure!
A whole lot of our “fun” is in taking risks.
Risks with a high chance of pain.
The riskier it gets, the more “fun.”
It’s called living on the edge.
For some of us,
it’s the only way of life we know.
If we are lucky
we wake up one glorious morning
and stop taking unnecessary risks
before it’s too late.
We come through a seriously close call
or learn from someone else’s tragedy
in time to prevent our own.
What do you say we take a look together
at our attraction to risk,
and see if we can face it down?
Daredevil me
A few years ago, I am back on my bike
after not riding for a month due to eye surgery.
It’s a beautiful fall day and I’m feeling great.
I take off on my usual three mile course along the lake,
starting my stopwatch as I begin.
I’ll beat the times I was doing before!
I say to myself.
The first section is downhill for about a half mile.
I let it rip.
Whoa! The wind is going right through me!
It’s not summer any more.
But I am flying!!!
Going way faster down this hill
than I have ever allowed myself before!
Hardly touch the brakes.
Now I know I will beat my previous times!
I will spare you the details
but ten minutes later
on my way across a hill
I capsize.
Fall off backwards.
Land on my back.
My head hits hard on a rock
making such a loud BANG
I think I have a head injury!
Then…
I realize
it was all noise and no pain.
My state of the art helmet has totally protected me.
I lie there looking up at the sky
as the shock wears off.
There are people there offering assistance.
I find I am not injured
other than a sore back
and sore legs where my bike landed on me.
In other words, I am damn lucky.
I walk my bike home.
So, what caused my crash?
The whole thing was reckless.
I was showing off.
I was out to prove how tough I am.
I didn’t care that I was taking a risk.
All I cared about was speed.
Did I know that what I was doing was dangerous?
Yes.
Was there a certain thrill in that?
Yes.
So,
what do you call someone who is attracted to danger
and gets pleasure out of the risk of pain?
A masochist.
Did I get the fiasco that I was flirting with?
Yes.
Am I embarrassed to admit that?
Yes.
Can we change the subject?
Let’s talk about you 🙂 !
What’s your risk of choice?
Ah, there are so many ways
for us to harm ourselves!
We can speed on bikes
in cars
in trucks
on motorcycles.
We can drink and drive.
Not wear seat belts.
Text while driving.
Play it loose with stop signs.
Pass going up a hill.
Weave in and out of traffic.
Oh, and have a mighty attack of road rage
when someone else does the same thing!
We can fill our lungs with smoke.
We can experiment with drugs.
We can gorge on heart attack junk.
We can poison ourselves with pornography.
Have casual sex with multiple partners.
Omit birth control.
Omit protection from STD’s.
Cheat on our spouse.
The list is endless!
What do all these risks have in common?
They appeal to our attraction to danger.
We find danger exciting.
Danger is our drug of choice.
It’s cheap.
Easy to get.
Easy to get addicted to.
Taking risks gives us the illusion of strength!
We feel immortal
as we court death.
And the closer we get to death
the more exciting it feels.
Living on the edge makes us feel alive!!!
Even if we’re half dead.
Sometimes our risk-taking originates
from well hidden depression.
In the neurosurgery ward
I used to work in the neurosurgery ward
of a major urban hospital.
They brought the young guys there
after their motorcycle and car crashes.
Most were paraplegics,
paralyzed from the waist down.
Some were “quads” (quadriplegics)
meaning they were paralyzed all over.
None of them could pee on their own.
Every morning
an orderly in a blue uniform
would arrive
carrying a tray of bottles.
I would watch him
walk down the hall
going into each room
to siphon the pee out of each guy.
Later in the morning,
I would go in their rooms
and talk with them.
I remember one very small young guy
who was totally paralyzed.
He told me he wasn’t wearing a seat belt
and went through the windshield of a truck
when it ran into the car ahead.
“I shoulda bounced,“ he told me, with a brave smile.
Preventive action
So, how do we prevent tragic outcomes?
We spoil the “fun” of risking or ruining our lives.
We spoil the “fun” of harming ourselves.
We spoil the “fun” of ignoring all the tragedies
happening to other people
who take serious risks.
How do we spoil the “fun”?
We face what our risk-taking really is:
a veiled form of suicide.
Yeah.
That’s what it is.
I’m sorry to have to say it
and I wish it weren’t so,
but when we take risks
we are embracing self destruction.
So what do we do?
We ask ourselves:
“In what areas of my life
am I allowing myself
to do dangerous and self damaging activities?”
We all know
when we are courting death and disaster.
But we think it’s cool!
It’s a great movie,
and we are playing the lead.
It’s amazing!
It’s really fun!
Until it isn’t.
In order to stop this flick
before it’s too late
we have to challenge ourselves.
We have to ask:
“Why am I so attracted to danger?”
“Why am I asking for a disaster?”
“Why do I want to ruin my life?
“Why do I enjoy flirting with death?”
Physician heal thyself
What about me?
Am I immune to the attraction to danger?
I have already confessed I am not.
Alas, none of us is immune to it.
We all have a varying degree
of unconscious masochism.
This means I have to challenge mine.
So,
when I first get on my bike,
even before I feel tempted
to race faster than I can handle,
I challenge myself with these questions:
“Why am I attracted to danger and excited by risk?”
“Why do I want to be destroyed in a bike crash?”
“Why am I asking for disaster by going past my safe speed limit?”
As I think about extreme speed,
I can count on being inwardly told:
“You can handle it!”
This is a lie.
It is the lie we are told
in situations of risk and temptation
by the destructive side of our mind.
No, I can’t handle it.
None of us can.
Blessings,
Dr. Hall
Question:
Have you ever refused to take a risk everyone else was taking?
There is a thin but definitely extant line between recklessness and stretching the boundaries of our abilities in any area. Like most of today's responders, I have done stupid, reckless, and dangerous things, mostly to prove, as you said, that I could do it. (I almost said "I alone could do it", but that verges on being political.) I was fortunate to survive and learn the essential lesson that we must each explore our abilities, learn our current limits, and structure our efforts to expand those limits so that we maximize our chances of success and minimize the danger of harm to ourselves and those to whom we might be important. The critical change for me was becoming happy with myself, realizing that I needn't prove anything to anyone else, and accepting that there would always be things I couldn't do but that there would never be anything I couldn't try if I chose to. The choices I make now are better, more realistic and lead to new learnings. I've also become comfortable with the fact that one day I will die, and I have no fear of that.
Yes, I've refused risks everyone else was taking. I've always been very safety conscious, a trait born of the skilled trade I worked in for 5 decades and my time as a paramedic years ago. For example, I was usually the guy looking out for everyone else on trail rides when we had to ride "roadside" to get somewhere, calling out traffic approaching from behind, dogs lurking, etc.
As to declining risk, a couple of times I chose a different path from other riders descending very steep hills or terrain, though I'll have to admit my concern was more for my horse's safety than my own. Broken leg = no horse.
As to accepting risk, well, what goods a Quarter Horse that can clock 45+ MPH if you don't let him stretch his legs occasionally? My first one was a 7-year-old rocket with a lit fuse. All he wanted to do was run. And that was fine with me. We just did it in appropriate settings. Had that boy for almost 30 years before his time came. No injuries to either of us, though he sometimes had more sense than me, it seemed.