One is to take an $800 dive with great white sharks. In a cage, silly. I’m no dummy.
The other is to go on a $200 hot air balloon ride.
Now, I’m not adverse to a little danger in my adventure activities. After all, I did run with the bulls (literally) and raced stock cars in 2014.
And I’ve jumped out of an airplane at 12,000 feet.
All very daring activities.
But for some reason, the hot air ballooning and the shark diving make me pause for a second and not click on the “BUY” button.
It’s because I’m chicken.
I picture the cage tether snapping and being faced with the decision to either sink into the dark abyss of the waters of the Farallons never to be seen again –OR- having to escape the cage and swim with the sharks, literally. I am a child of JAWS afterall, these are totally plausible scenarios in my mind.
Or with the hot air balloon, I picture my already airsick stomach heaving and hoing as I float up into the atmosphere only to watch in horror as the balloon catches on fire and I go plummeting toward the earth.
Has anyone seen the Hindenberg?
I’m going to do them because I realize that until I confront these fears, they will own me. And living in my comfort zone is stagnation, not growth.
They will make great stories to tell my grandchildren someday.
I’ll probably do the hot air balloon ride first. After taking a bunch of Ativan. And washing them down with a bottle of champagne.
Because that’s how I roll.