Risk scares me because I view the squirmy unknown as a thing to be tamed, to be tamped down and placed neatly in a box. If I do the same things every single day, in the same way, the outcome is most likely something that I can predict.
The summer of 2005 was a fine time to be 26 and an even finer time to have a dream. All around me, people were going big by purchasing homes or committing as heavily as they could to can’t-miss ventures or, in a lot of cases, reinventing themselves entirely: friends and colleagues were moving into two-, three- and four-bedroom "smart investments" all across Chicagoland while locked in an arms race with people "chasing the dream" in oddball lines of work to see who could "live more fully." I, wise young man that I was, set my heart on joining the ranks of the latter.