Last Sunday it happened again.  I am beginning to trust that it will happen most of the time.  Looking out the window at dense clouds, low fog, and snow on the hillsides, I snuggle into my cozy nest.  I still had time to text my friends, "I think I'll pass."  A warm kitty on my lap urged me to stay put.  Aches and pains suggested that we go another day.

But it has happened so many times before.  In the four years since forming a friendly group of slow-running pace mates, we have gone out under all conditions.  Heavy rain.  Deep snow.  Gusty wind.  Glare ice.  Above 90.  Below 10.  Darkness.  Time and again, conditions have screamed "NO!" We have gone anyway.  Time and again, I have expressed amazement halfway through, "Isn't it beautiful?"

Last Sunday it happened again.  Rain and snow held off while we were out. Low clouds cast a soft filter over late-autumn colors in the valley.  Changing patterns of wispy fog decorated the gullies.  Time and again, we stopped and marveled, celebrating the day.

Tuesday I went out again.  After the time change, it was pitch-dark at 6pm; a rainy day headed for a rainy night.  The batteries in my headlamp had died. As I drifted toward the car, I bumped into Kelly. We were both on the fence.  We jumped off together and ran in the rain.  It was beautiful.  I felt the lesson soaking in.

It happens all the time, and not only with running.  It happens for with social events.  It happens with writing.  It happens with going back to school or retiring from a long career.  Things turn out better than I expect them to.

The cautious mind is always on duty, protecting us from harm; mine is better than most.  I miss a lot when I listen only to its voice in my head.  The adventuresome mind talks fear off the ledge and reminds me of the fun we had the last time.  It persuades me that the risk is small and the chances of disaster slim.  It shows me the escape route and trusts that we won't have to use it.

I have so often listened to the worst-case voice and taken the safer fork in the road. Now I feel the balance shifting with age.  Decades of happy surprise are catching up with me.  With fewer years ahead than behind, I am more open to risk. It feels good every time I say yes instead of no and look around, amazed at how beautiful it is.

How do you engage the debate between caution and adventure?  What helps you choose, in the moment, whether to take a risk or play it safe?  When has it turned out to be beautiful?