A life without risk.

Here I sit in my backyard gazebo, my feet on resting on a glass table, the springtime sun beaming down on my black motorcycle hat that belonged to my late father. I don't have to go to work today, I also can't go to work today, or this week, or this month, nor can I work virtually from home, because I'm employed at a small business that can't be open while the invisible threat is floating around.

Daily life has turned into a monotonous extended weekend that never ends. I can go for long walks, but I can't sit on a public bench. I can sit at home alone and drink all the beer I want but I can't patronize my favorite pub and hang out with the regulars. I'm not allowed to work or touch or get physically close to the ones I love, but I can binge anything I want, tv-series, old movies, podcasts, junk food, coffee, alcohol. I can't take the risks I usually take, like taking public transit to go into work and be around strangers and co-workers. There's not enough hand sanitizer or physical distance to keep the invisible threat at bay and make working life possible right now. Besides, I don't even own a welder's mask.

Some of us are brazen, fearless risk-takers. Extreme sports junkies climb Mount Everest and leap from airplanes. Surfers stay out of the ocean for days because they're eagerly awaiting the wave that is most likely to kill them. Bikers ride their Harleys just a few kilometers faster, just a little closer to what Hunter S. Thompson called "The Edge", so they can straddle the fine line between calculated risk and dangerous stupidity. I'm not one of these people, but I've known them, we all know them. Some of them died too young, and some of them are going to live to be 98 and outlive insurance agents. Am I beginning to envy these daredevils? The longer I spend in safe solitude, free of germs, injury, and other people who are probably carriers, the more I desire to taste a little bit of delicious poison from a rusty, razor-sharp chalice, and not feel any guilt.

While we do our best to avoid the invisible threat, we are constantly reminded that we are living in "uncertain times". I recently realized that there is no such thing as "a certain time". Just how certain is my life? Just how safe can I be? Would several consecutive days, weeks, months of only watching Netflix prolong my life?

I'm not going to argue that this inglorious staycation from normal life is the wrong idea. We won't know if it was the right idea until we see it all in the rearview mirror. We don't know a goddamn thing. Not knowing anything gives you two choices: (1) allow yourself to riddled with anxiety, or (2) surrender and embrace uncertainty. I fundamentally value safety and rules, but I also feel that they're overrated. Cognitive dissonance is a beautiful thing. I'm like everyone else, I want reassurance and answers. Hell, I even check my daily horoscope, though lately, all it's telling me is that I should go on a transcontinental trip using Google Maps.

When I was a child, I was afraid of everything, I was scared all the time. If the invisible threat came to me as a young boy, I probably wouldn't leave my bedroom, let alone remove the snot and tear covered safety blanket from my tender little head. I'm now 34 years old, no longer owning a security blanket, but I'm cautious as I can be; The most dangerous thing I've done recently is walk in the wrong direction down a one-way cereal aisle.

Once it seems like the invisible threat isn't as prevalent as it was back in March, will I be a changed man? Will I be more of a risk-seeker, an adventurer, a reckless foot soldier who relishes fighting the war between safety and gleeful, stupid, hazardous freedom? Will I have more hair on my chest (there's already plenty there, and it's getting more grey with each passing day.) Will I cut a hole out of my mask so I can fit the Cuban cigar in my mouth? Who will be the first to see the No Regrets tattoo printed in black Celtic across my buttcheeks? Who knows. I just hope that I will emerge a little braver, and have a casual thirst for a little danger.