I don’t like getting on rollercoaster rides. You won’t find me bungee-jumping, hang gliding, skydiving, spelunking — not even camping. It’s not likely I’ll ever go whitewater rafting in Costa Rica or attempt to climb Mt. Everest (let’s be more realistic here: I won’t even endure the eight-hour hike up Mt. Whitney, which is much closer). I’m actually tickled pink that there’s a popular dive instructor in the Philippines who shares my exact name; somehow I can imagine that out there is an alternative version of myself experiencing amazing adventures in the deep.

But every few years I turn my life around, completely topsy-turvy, and jump without a safety net. It’s not the adrenalin rush that propels me for sure; it’s not even about the stories I can tell later. I can’t say I’ve had an exciting life, but I’ve taken quite a few chances (some calculated, some completely blind).

Continue reading at GIGI GOES GAGA.