by Sondra Deuber

Created on: April 08, 2008

Risks come in all shapes and sizes: some of the things you consider risky might not be the same things I would define that way. But now that I think about it, I can't think of too many things we do every day that don't involve some risk.

For example, if you drive to work every day on a freeway at 65 MPH, you're putting yourself and your passengers in an extremely risky situation. You have to balance the risk of being injured or killed in a high speed accident against the risk of losing your job if you don't show up at work because you're afraid to drive on the freeway. And staying off the freeway doesn't guarantee you'll be safe: most accidents happen within a mile of home. In your nice, quiet residential neighborhood, some fool can speed through a stop sign and broad-side you, a block and a half from your house.

You're really much safer in an airplane, and if you don't believe me, look up the statistics: fewer people die - world-wide - in a year in airplane crashes than on the freeways in one or two states during a 3-day summer holiday weekend.

You may, depending on your age and blood alcohol level, think that bungee jumping is a hoot and very safe. However, from my perspective, it's certain death, because I would absolutely, positively die of terror within 1 millisecond of jumping. But I'll ski down some challenging blue trails without thinking twice about it. Usually I'm okay, unless I think I can relax when I've made it down safely: that's when I push off to skate to the lift, get a tip caught in a rut, and fall flat on my face. Once in a while, I've really hurt myself. The rest of the time, I get back on the lift for another run.

About a year and a half ago, I packed up my car while the movers packed up my stuff, and took off on a 2,600 mile cross-country drive. I was 65 years, 3 months, and 1 week old at the time. I was a female (still am, actually) with gray hair, traveling alone, and looking forward to seeing parts of the country from the ground instead of from 30,000-40,000 feet up in the sky. I thought it would be a great adventure and it was. I loved every minute of it, including avoiding a scam the guys at a gas station out in the middle of absolutely nowhere in Nevada tried to pull on me!

But when I told women half my age about my plans, their first question was always, "Aren't you scared?" I wasn't, not at all. Since my divorce, I've made several long distance trips alone. I'm smart enough to know when I'm too tired to go on, and find somewhere decent

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