Taking chances was a way of life for me once. First came boys with fast cars, moonlight drag races on dark deserted stretches of highway. My first marriage was to the guy who owned the fastest car, a sleek red 1961 Ford Starliner with a 390 engine. Oh that car could fly and I loved it. The faster we went the more exciting the run.
We had a few more fast cars, and I took up driving in the drag races, powder puff division, behind the wheel of an El Camino. Once the first baby arrived we drifted away from the drag scene and settled down till 1967 when my husband bought a Harley. By that time we had two daughters so I didn't ride much, but when my mom would watch the girls, I'd put on my leathers and off we would go clocking speeds of 150 mph. Taking chances, I loved it.
We didn't stay married and my life moved in other directions. I was caught up in the thrills of the late 60's and early 70's and moved to the country seeking a simpler way of life. I'm still doing that. I never stopped taking chances though. And, because I didn't, I discovered many wonderful places, ideas, and people that expanded my thinking and offered me vital life lessons.
I don't take too many chances anymore. Age has mellowed that urge, but I'd like to think that if the right opportunity came along I'd jump at the chance, take it and run.