Fire Walking

A few months ago Danielle wrote an awe-inspiring post about her adventures in fire walking. Apart from the obligatory mom-response of "You'll shoot your eye out one day, Missy," I was secretly pretty impressed. I can't remember the last time I sought out physical pain in an effort to prove something to myself, even working out at the gym. Danielle is pretty gutsy, that's for sure. She walked gingerly for at least a week after that incident, and her poor feet looked very sore.

I take lots of chances in other ways, some even more dangerous than fire walking. I do the adult equivalent of talking to strangers with candy, running with scissors, and playing in traffic nearly every day, not to mention the occasional walking on hot coals and sleeping on beds of nails. I know I'm a bit self-destructive, but with a husband and four kids it's not really fair for me to indulge in that these days. I know this, and yet I don't know if it's laziness or a death wish that interferes with doing what I know I should.

I really thought I'd grow out of this, but I don't think I have. Never a dull moment around me, that's for sure.