See that girl?
That one. That girl is barely breathing.
That was 10 years ago, as I followed my cousin Brian's lead and crawled to the edge of the Cliffs of Moher in Doolin, Ireland. The wind was strong and wild, wild enough to sweep behind you and pull you off if you were stupid enough to stand. So we crawled. Hands and knees over puddles until our chins dipped over the edge and we stared nearly 710 feet to waves crashing below. I don't remember what we talked about. It probably wasn't so amazing. It probably went something like this:
My mom shrieked with a little panic and then took this photo. I'm so glad she did.
I keep it in a place where I can see it every day.
It reminds me of 17. Of dreams. When risk didn't calculate failure. When experience was for experience sake.
Before this girl:
I may not be traveling much these days. I definitely calculate failures. Experiences must be worth the gamble. But I think I'm still crawling to the edge of cliffs. I'm hanging my head over the edge, seeing the potential risk that awaits me and in the one breath I'm holding on to, I manage to eek out a "Wow."