The Risktaker

In her house on the Jersey Shore, Arlene and I first met. I observed the sun peeking through a patch of densely stacked clouds as I sat on her back porch. It appeared to be a closed eye winking at me.

Arlene lived life to the fullest, wearing everything she owned until it was as threadbare as her favourite pair of jeans, I realised as we got to know one another. She didn't have the word "moderation" in her dictionary. She took chances and doesn't look back. She was a player who knew how to roll the dice. She lived on the edge.Arlene gave me one of the most potent expressions in the English language and some life lessons over coffee and a devil dog for me and two glasses of merlot and half a pack of Marlboros for her.

In the course of our conversation, Arlene would frequently lean forwards, look me in the eyes, and enquire, "What do you mean by that?" She took a drag on her cigarette, pursed her lips sensually, and let out the ideal smoke ring in my direction.

I assumed that this middle-aged woman was curious about my opinions. While drinking her wine and tossing ashes to the ground, Arlene sat back in her bentwood rocker. She appeared interested, as if one of her internal compulsions would be satisfied by my responses.I struggled to give my words significance as I spoke. I was surprised by her approach. It compelled me to reflect and justify my reasoning.

She placed me on her Freudian couch for a round of questions and answers. She was all set to play the doctor.

Tell me about your relationship with your parents, doctor of psychology. Patient: My sister was loved more by my parents than I was.

What do you mean by it, Psychiatrist?

Patient: She received more love, better toys, and kisses from them.

What do you mean by it, Psychiatrist?

Patient: I envied you. I desired to be treated similarly. I aspired to be the kid who was more adored.

What do you mean by it, Psychiatrist?I gave in. "Arlene, the issue with your psychiatric technique is that after a few "what-do-you-mean-by-thats," the person being questioned grows weary of the psychoanalysis and frequently concludes the session with, "Are you training to be a shrink? "

I bit into my devil dog and tasted the lovely white cream and chocolate flavour. I sipped the coffee while eating the cake. I waited for her response as I fixed my attention on the approaching waves before deciding to take charge.

I asked Arlene, "Arlene, I'm thinking about taking a chance," as I locked eyes with her.

Her ears were waiting for more.

"Why do individuals take chances when you have such extensive experience?" I queried.While contemplating her next move, Arlene rubbed the top of her head and spoke these words carefully. Here's why: I don't want to spend my later years in a pine box or a nursing home with the regretful expression on my face. I observe features contorted when I enter an old age facility and turn to gaze at the "senior residents" inside, as if a lemon wedge had been stitched to their lips. They seldom ever took chances. They lived a safe but bitter existence, rife with anxiety and reluctance. They wasted their chances in life. There are no do-overs in life.

For me to pour her another glass of wine, Arlene signalling a pause."The graves are full of risk-takers: smokers, drinkers, binge eaters, gamblers, and businessmen," she continued. These words are subtly etched into their grave markers:

"A risk-taker is lying here. By taking chances, he reduced the length of his life, yet he passed away happy. As if to toast the daredevils and drink the leftovers, Arlene raised her glass.

Aren't there a lot of risk-takers in our prisons? I queried.

Yes, that is why taking a risk is so exciting. You have a great deal to lose. "Choosing what risks to take and how much you are willing to pay in consequences for your actions is the eternal balancing act of life. Risk-taking is the art of making intelligent decisions, as the Chinese proverb goes. "Arlene, should I take the chance?" I murmured.

She asked, "What do you mean by that?" as she gave me a perplexed face.