Having a motorcycle in our family pushes me to the absolute limits of comfort. Though I'm more used to it now because we have one, I have very distinct feelings about what is and is not okay in my little anxious heart. I will never be at ease with it. Helmets and protective clothing are a must, but I also know that I'm much more comfortable cruising surface streets than freeways. A jaunt down I-5 in San Diego with a buttload of semi trucks was enough to cure me of any illusions about how comfy I'm going to be chillin' on the back of a bike at freeway speeds. It felt like human Frogger. My bravery only goes so far.
A couple of years ago I took some dance students to Disneyland for a workshop. This only added to the fanatic admiration I have for Disney; the instructor was so good with the kids. She asked them about why people like to ride the "E ticket" rides--what makes them worth waiting in huge lines? The answer was the thrill. People like to be pushed to their limit, to have their heart race and their blood pound. When we watch a good dance performance, we get a thrill too. (And I would add that from a performer's standpoint there's equal incentive for a thrill.) That's why it is a dancer's job to look like she is having the most fun any person could have in her life. It makes the audience experience the thrill right along with her.
I love to be on stage. I'll cop to it: I'm a total attention whore under the right circumstances. It still gets my heart racing (even for a silly thing like dancing with other teachers) and I still want to do a good job. But I've been there enough that I know I can control it... there's no way it can end badly because just getting out there is the whole deal. It's a safe risk--I'm addicted.
|Thrill-seeking doesn't seem to look great on me.|