Daring

During the first days of school we play a get-to-know you activity called “Two Truths and a Lie,” the object of which is to suss out the lie amidst the nuggets of truth.

This year I said:

1. I escaped from a mortuary.

2. I was almost mugged by a French motorcycle gang.

3. I got into a car with a stranger and took a ride to the top of a mountain.

My students were stymied, never expecting their responsible, middle-aged teacher to have those items on her list. Frankly, I was surprised too, as I had long since drawn a curtain over my younger, more daring self. I wondered where that irrepressible youth had gone with her sense of adventure and risk and couldn’t help but feel a bit old and a bit boring. 

Then I came to the startling realization that I am daring. To be sure, it’s a different type of daring than before. Instead of waking down side alleys in the dead of night, I’m writing and publishing books. That in itself is hugely daring. To share one’s words and ideas with others is daunting, but I’ve done what many have only talked about doing. 

I may not be as naively stupid as I once was. I certainly haven’t escaped any mortuaries recently or been almost mugged by a French motorcycle gang or, you know, gotten into a car with a stranger, but I continue to learn, to try and to dare. 

And for being a suburban teacher/writer, wife and mother of two, that’s o.k. by me.

(C) Sara Ackerman 2016

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