We were on a walk. My friend, fifteen years my senior, and his dog, a huge mastiff, were out for a long lunch.
Despite being jerked gruffly from shrub to shrub by the one-hundred-and-twenty-pound puppy, we continued the conversation as best we could. I can’t remember how we started talking about me being twenty-two, but we did.
“Where you’re at later in life — it all hinges on if you made courageous decisions during your mid twenties.”
He looked back at me.
“Not far from where you are now. You seem like you’re twenty-seven anyways. Just as good a time as any to gun for it. ”
“Don’t play it too safe now — taking a big risk, making a big change, cooking up some half-cocked plan and then deciding to run with it — that’s what’ll propel you places.”
He wasn’t meaning to give me advice, but I’m glad he did.
Over the next two months I’ll be busy equipping myself for some high-impact risk-taking, in the hopes it will propel me forwards. The passage of time is a sobering thing if you’ve got places to go.