Hello All,
Every now and again, a person lives a little dangerously, which we admit is not very smart. It always begins with a small step and before you know it, there’s another and another. By that time, a person is committed and then there is no turning back. Besides, who wants to be called a ‘wuss’? The moral of the story. If you are a male, ensure that you marry a woman less brave than yourself.
Last year in Zion, the editor used the word ‘wuss’ to express her feelings towards me. On our first rock climb in Sedona some years ago, with my knees quivering while looking into the abyss, she said ‘you’re a big baby’. So on Friday, we put the head down, closed the eyes, stuck extra bubble-gum on the shoes and climbed the jagged rocks. We gave her no excuse for name-calling. If nothing else, it would be nice to be thought of as a ‘somewhat brave wuss’.
Across the way, we saw a great-grandfather and his nine year old climbing down the less severe side of the falls. Admittedly, it was a reasonable maneuver for an experienced person but certainly not a nine-year old girl. He was no youngster either. That is when we realized it is all about perspective. We thought he was irresponsible and he thought we were living dangerously. Who was right? It does not matter. One must remain within one’s bounds of comfort. Funnily enough, we felt safe or reasonably safe on the climb. In fact, when we reached our destination goal, we stopped and turned around. Perhaps our judgment wasn’t too far off after all.
The lesson learned is that as long as I’m my editor’s special ‘wuss’, why care what she calls me. I’m still her boy.
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