Risk

"To laugh is to risk appearing a fool.

To weep is to risk appearing sentimental.

To reach out for another is to risk involvement.

To expose feelings is to risk rejection.

To place your dreams before the crowd is to risk ridicule.

To love is to risk not being loved in return.

To go forward in the face of overwhelming odds is to risk failure.

But risks must be taken because the greatest hazard in life is to risk nothing.

The person who risks nothing does nothing, has nothing, is nothing.

He may avoid suffering and sorrow, but he cannot learn, feel, change, grow or love.

Chained by his certitudes, he is a slave.

Only a person who takes risks is free. " -Author Unknown

In my short 24 years on this planet, I have certainly had my fair share of risk. Growing up, I was blessed to have parents that encouraged and nurtured my sense of independence and curiosity of the world around me. I don't think that they invisioned that the freedom that they allowed me and my sister would lead to their 12 year old daughter hiking alone for miles through the woods or taking off for a war torn Israel on her 18th birthday, but I would like to think that it at least prepared them for the risks that I would take later in life.

At least my family has had the pleasure/pain of watching me grow into the person I am today and at least have an idea of where I got my passions. My professors and coworkers have not, yet they know me all too well. Since the day that I got the call from Simon, to the numerous e-mails from potential teammates, to the realization that this thing might actually happen, I have had a pit in my stomach. Not because of the thought of wind or waves or salt water boils on my bum, but because of the risk that I could potentially take by telling my boss that I needed some time off. Although I have tried to put the race out of my mind, thinking about the hundreds of risks that I would be taking, each time I look up into the starry sky, each Deathcab for Cutie song that I hear, and every orange sunset reminds me that what I really want right now in this life of mine is to write the ending to a story that should have been finished two years ago. The plot hangs dangling off a cliff in my mind, waiting for the bridge that will take it to its happy conclusion. By Wednesday, I realized the risk of not trying was going to kill me more than any risk that I would face on the high seas. I walked into my boss's office with determined eyes that I hoped hid my fear. If he said no, then the choice that I had to make would have probably dropped me to my shaking knees. It turns out that I am not only blessed to have an incredible family, I am also incredibly thankful to have such an amazing professor. Like a concerned parent, he looked straight into my eyes, quoted Le Petit Prince, and said that although he wasn't thrilled about the time I needed away from my research, he understood my passions, and would work with me to make sure that I could fulfill the dream of the ocean with minimal disruption to my research and doctorate degree. We worked through a plan, and I left with the office with a smile on my face and a light heart. Ask, and it shall be given; seek, and you shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you. Without the knowledge that I would come back from the adventure to my other dreams, my solid job and exciting research, I could not have proceeded. With that paper tiger defeated, I can join in the excitement of completing "Unfinished Business" along with Tara, Jo, and Kohl. Might we fail to get the money to reach the starting line? Yes. Might we fail to finish our dream, again? Maybe. But how will we know if we never try? We have a very good chance of breaking some records with our experienced, determined, international team. More importantly though, we have the chance to inspire others to follow their own dreams, proving that no obstacles can stand in the way of a dream.

Two weeks after our capsize, we flew into Antigua to watch some of our fellow ocean rowers make their way into English Harbour. We arrived on a plane. Not in the American Fire. It was an emotional time for us to watch our friends as they rowed into the arms of their families and take a swig of their first cold drink in months. To see the light in their eyes at the successful end of one of life's most memorable adventures almost brought tears to our eyes. Fortunately for us, Tara and Jo were also standing on the quay beside us. Jo strained her back to the point where she could no longer row and was picked up by the crew of Aurora while the rest of her four continued on. Tara and her teammate, Iain, capsized the same Sunday, bloody Sunday as we did and were rescued from their liferaft with Jo's help. In the pub, we shared hundreds of our stories of life on the ocean. We each had different experiences, but they were all the same. Tales of watching flying fish, rowing through lightning storms, the unnerving sight of tanker lights at 2 a.m., the fire that spreads across the vast plane of water during a sunset, the wonderful crunch of Cheetos, the hilarity of your teammate making up another song, the joy of a cleansing rain, and millions of memories of a journey that ended 1500 miles too soon. Although it was not logical, we were jealous of those that were still battling the elements. Ocean rowing was in our blood, and there in the pub, we could see it pulsing though each other's veins. The next day, I kayaked to the far end of the harbour. Then - in my flop flops because I had no other shoes - I braved the cacti and cliffs of the eastern shore until I reached a vantage point where I could look back at all of the mighty Atlantic. I sat down on the point that I had seen in my mind for as long as I could remember. I had not reached it the way I wanted, but as the ocean breeze filled my senses, I knew that someday I would. And now, that someday might be 52 days away...