Imagine the most bad-ass life possible.
Think of someone who drives fast cars, tries exotic food, sails yachts across the ocean, pilots a plane, travels to conflict zones, goes to concerts, has controversial opinions, scuba dives, breaks a leg, goes on dates, makes money from speculation, goes to protests, does things that no one else has done, cusses a lot, starts businesses no one else starts, parties hard.
You don’t have to want that life for yourself. But you can’t deny it’s bad-ass. It’s the thing movies are made of.
Now, imagine the safest life possible.
Think of someone who doesn’t drive, mostly stays at home, has some form of stable income, eats a pre-calculated diet, curates a Spotify playlist, takes vitamins, no controversial opinions, refrains from touchy subjects, doesn’t have physical contact with anyone, always uses hand sanitizer, avoids emotional attachment, no alcohol, doesn’t even drink caffeine, analyzes the next steps and only makes a move if the success is guaranteed.
Pretty darn safe, right?
I’d rather live sixty years like a badass than eighty years like a troglodyte.
Sometimes, fun = danger. And there is no getting around that.