I’ve been itching to write about this subject lately, but I’ve also kept putting it off for reasons entirely my own. Anyhow, I was spurred to think about it a lot because a friend of mine was reprimanded for always “living on the edge”, meaning she’s always ready to take her chances on things. Initially, I didn’t exactly know the reasons why the event spurred me to think and react this way; I thought at first that it’s because a friend is a friend, and/or I didn’t really think the person who reprimanded her had a right to tell her how to live her life. Introspection, however, has led me to the conclusion that I am exhibiting this reaction because I also have a very grave tendency to live on the edge, and I considered such a remark an affront to my personal philosophy.
(This piece of my mind will never make it to my blog. It mustn’t. It’s too much of a giveaway. But I digress.)
I’ll go straight to the point on this one, since I’m feeling quite emotional and sad and angry and irritated all at the same time and all diplomacy has left me for the moment: I feel great pity for people who cannot take risks, for the simple reason that they don’t want to get hurt. I regard them as miserable folk who do not know what it is to be truly human, to feel, and to live. I especially detest people who stick to the path of being on the safe side just because they’re afraid of failure, or pain, or both. I don’t think they’re human, period.
True, being on the safe side works most of the time. If you want to be successful by human standards, then all you have to do is stick to the straight and narrow path and not take any risks, and sooner or later (maybe later, in all probability, since safety does not always equal speed in getting results), you’re bound to get there. But always choosing to be on the safe side robs you of what could be the greatest moments of your life: personal encounters with failure and success that cannot be had through living vicariously and wisdom that cannot be acquired from reading books or watching Oprah. Hahaha. That’s so freakin’ queer. Hahahaha. Sorry.
Taking risks makes us more of what we should be. Once we choose to take risks, we choose to venture out of the protective spaces and shells that society has taught us to fortify so well, and in so doing, we discover the parts of our selves that we’ve kept hidden so long. We discover our weaknesses, our strengths, and it is only then that the reality that we are only human truly sets in. And you really can’t lose once you take risks: if you succeed in your endeavor, then good for you. By that time, you’re out of your shell and in the process of becoming familiar with the strengths of your true self. Just don’t let the rush get to your head, and all will be fine. On the other hand, don’t hate yourself if you fail. You may be sadder, but you’ll also be wiser, and that’s a fact. Just don’t retreat back into your shell: be responsible for your actions, and tell yourself that’s it’s okay to fail, but what’s important is that you be able to rise after every failure, shake all of your fears and doubts off, and try again. Muhammad Ali once said that, in the ring or in real life, it’s okay to fall every now and then, but it’s staying down that sucks. Don’t hate the pain you’re bound to feel if you fail: if you feel that you have to let it out, then do so. Remember that humanity’s greatest works were born out of moments of pain and sadness. Take Van Gogh’s paintings or Beethoven’s music late in his career. Or, if you want something more contemporary, Linkin’ Park’s music should ring a bell, or most other rock songs of this generation, for that matter. As the opening theme of Naruto goes: “Turn your sadness into kindness, and your uniqueness into strength.” And it makes great sense when you come to think of it.
So now you’re telling me that the instances I mentioned happened because those men were geniuses, and they’d have been able to do it regardless of whether or not they took risks. Tell me, do you think Beethoven would have made his famous sonatas had he not taken the risk of composing them despite the onset of deafness? Had Van Gogh chosen to skulk in a corner, depressed psycho that he was, instead of lifting his brush, would he have been able to come up with so many stars and sunflowers, such lovely symbols of light, from the darkness of his being?
Sure, a lot of historical flops were made because some people got ants in their pants and weren’t able to stay put if their life depended on it: not content with the berries and drupes she was regularly munching on, Eve simply had to have a bite of that luscious forbidden fruit, and whang! Bam! Original sin and eternal banishment galore. Some doctor in Africa had to know if humans and monkeys could have offspring (or so the story goes), and voila! AIDS, the worst scourge the human race has had to contend with in this generation. But even God took a risk: all-powerful that He/She is, He/She had to come into this world as a human and die as we do in order to better understand and love our eternally blundering race. Beat that, huh!
And please don’t think that the straight and narrow path I’m talking about is alien to me; I spent most of my childhood and teen life there. Living in survival mode has its perks (everything goes according to plan, you’re the best in your class, family, etc., everyone adores you, and all that jazz), but once you take that risk and step into the unknown, you’ll realize that you can never really go back to the way you were: you can still take calculated risks, but you won’t have to live in fear of failure or of living up to others’ expectations. It’s liberating, really. But don’t just take my word for it, try it out yourself.
Finally, let me share a story with you as a parting gift of sorts: There once was a young lad who boasted that he had the most beautiful heart in the world, and true enough, he did. He showed his heart to the world, and the people found that it was indeed aesthetically pleasing: no scars, no welts, all polished and gilded…you know the sort. The people gasped and gawked in awe as they beheld the young lad’s heart, but their astonishment was broken when an old man dressed in rags stated outright that he, and not the young lad, had the most beautiful heart in the world. Surprised, the young lad asked to see the old man’s heart. Secretly, the young man was fearful that the old man’s heart might indeed be more beautiful than his, and that he would be humiliated and turned into the local laughingstock. His apprehension, however, vanished when he at last beheld the old man’s heart: like the beggar’s clothes, his heart was ragged and torn, patched and frayed. It had some spots where pieces had been torn and replaced with pieces that didn’t quite fit right (and the color was off, too! Blech.), and there were some places where the gaps had not been replaced at all. It was a truly ugly sight to behold, and the people could not help but show their disgust. Finally, the young man spoke to the beggar. “How dare you,” said he, “to think that your heart is more beautiful than mine, when it is not much different from the rags that you wear.” His statement elicited a lot of laughter and statements of derision from the spectators, all of which were directed at the old man. The old man, however, kept his calm and kept quiet, until at last the crowd finally hushed themselves and he was able to speak. “You say that you have the most beautiful heart of all,” the old man retorted, “when all I see is a heart that has been hidden from the world so that it may not experience pain or harm. My heart has known a lot of the joys and pains of this world, and it is through this that it is far more beautiful. I have loved, and in doing so given pieces of my heart to the people around me, and because of that my heart is riddled with scars and tears. Most of the people I loved have loved me back, and that is the reason why my heart is patched up. The love of some have been inadequate, while some have been too much. Thus my heart is saggy in some parts and crimped up in others. Some people I loved did not love me back, which is why some gaps remain open. But I would not trade this heart for one such as yours, for in giving of itself and in enduring the pains and enjoying the joys of loving others, it has realized its purpose.”
Moved to tears, the young lad takes his heart, tears a bit of it off, and gives it to the old man. In response, the old man accepts it and in turn tears a bit of his heart off and gives it to the young lad. And they lived happily ever after, the end. Seriously, though, I don’t know what became of them (presumably the old sage went on his way, all the while teaching others how to give of their hearts and how to appreciate surrealism and abstraction in art, while the young lad started an annual heart-tearing contest slash “bingo social” in their community), but I do know that they lived full lives and died happy and content.
Happy. Take risks, live life to the fullest, bee happy.
* I wrote this article two years ago and saved it on my computer with the intent of publishing it on this site. Two years have passed, and finally it's here (hmm...maybe I should write about procrastination next, haha). It was inspired by Dennis Quilala's comment to Au about how the latter always lives on the edge. And that's it.
