I saw The Secret Life of Walter Mitty in the theater last night, and walked out lighter than air. There’s something about a movie (or any story, really) where the protagonist overcomes fear by way of ridiculous risk that makes my heart soar. I know what it’s like to be scared of risk.
But I’m not always the best at looking at risk head on and saying, “Alright. It’s go time.” I tend to turn around and bury myself somewhere safe—making tacos, letting the kids watch another cartoon, writing a post no one could disagree with, watching Friends reruns.