I was reading through some of my earliest blog chapters yesterday, which of course led to a couple of hours of reminiscing about the adventures I’ve been fortunate to have had: climbing a mountain (admittedly a small one) while living in Czechoslovakia in 1991; flying in a float plane over the Alaskan glaciers; dodging the amorous advances of an inebriated Soviet official in London; and living amongst the KGB and the Russian “mafia” in Moscow in 1993, among others.

At the time, it didn’t occur to me that I was being especially brave. But from the safe vantage point of my “golden years,” I now realize that many of the things I did back then actually did require a bit of chutzpah. And that started me thinking about the nature of courage.

It is said that courage is not the absence of fear, but the ability to carry on in spite of the fear. I believe that. I also believe that, if we don’t take an occasional risk in the one short lifetime we’re given, we miss out on a lot of fun . . . and a wealth of great memories to carry us through the later, quieter years.

As Vincent Van Gogh once said:

“What would life be if we had no courage to attempt anything?”

Of course, Vincent then went and lopped off an ear, and eventually committed suicide, so I’m thinking he may have carried that philosophy a bit too far.

But in the brief 37 years of his life, he did manage to dig through the depression to find his creative self, in order to leave the world with some of its most magnificent works of art.

And that seems to me to require a very special kind of courage.

So, yes, I remain in favor of taking a risk now and then.

But do be careful not to cut off any body parts.

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
7/31/26