Pushing the Limits
When I was a kid, I loved to run. Excessive amounts of energy made running as fast as I could through the house, down the street, or through the forest as exhilarating as a rollercoaster. It felt like flying, like an adventure, like I was on the edge of disaster and narrowly escaping death (which was probably true). I would imagine myself outrunning bad guys, beating everyone in a race, and fighting valiantly like an Indian brave in a war. It was so fun.
That kind of natural high doesn't happen very often anymore. I still like running, but boy there are no more excessive amounts of energy. I have torn my ACL, developed my frontal lobe, and rolled enough ankles to know I am slightly less invincible. But I do still like pushing my limits. It's scary in a really exciting kind of way.
I don't think you'd call me an adrenaline junkie because the limits I push these days aren't typically physical. But set up a ridiculously impossible-seeming mental, social, or emotional challenge and I kind of can't tear myself away. I just can't quit. My heart won't let me. Once I get into it, it's like running downhill full speed, with no way to stop until it levels out at the bottom again. There is something inside of me that just won't die when it comes to righting wrongs, solving a problem, or going a step deeper into intimacy and joy. It's so fun.
Unsplash photo cred: Kaler Emsley