Those Risks Worth Taking
I’m not talking about the kind of risk that’s cruel or heartless if you can help it, but the kind of risks that go hand in hand with life-changing opportunity. Risks that open up possibilities for something so much greater.
This photo was taken on a solo, extreme shoestring-budget trip to Stavanger in Norway 🇳🇴 4 years ago. I was 25 at the time, I’d just met my (unknowingly at the time) fiancé-to-be, and I was at a crossroads in my life where ‘relationship’ had become a big, intimidating mountain of a word and I was Little Miss Cynical, sitting arms crossed, firmly at the bottom.
I spent much of the trip deliberating whether I was brave enough to be vulnerable with someone again, to let myself be in love and gravitate toward the strongest emotional pull I had ever felt.
During that short trip I also met so many friendly and fascinating locals and fellow travellers, climbed two of the most breathtaking mountains I have ever set out to climb, did a lot of questionable hitchhiking, and very almost fell 1000+ft straight off the edge of a mountain running down it to catch my flight back in time.
A lot of adrenaline for what was barely a 4-day trip.
Aside from the 1000ft+ drop off Preikestolen I missed by about an inch - still jolts through me like a lightning bolt when I think of it - the scariest part of my journey was when the couple I’d hitchhiked to Kjeragbolten with announced they were driving another 2 hours on to also climb Trolltunga that day and wouldn’t be driving back to the place I needed to be.
At this point I was stranded at the foot of Kjeragbolten, asking every single car - to no avail - if they had space to take me back, getting increasingly desperate as I watched the final people climb down from the mountain, and the car park emptying. Many were driving in the opposite direction. Some probably thought I was dodgy.
The sun set some more. My hopes sunk way more.
Thankfully, I bumped into a lovely Canadian couple who had some room in their campervan. They drove me an hour or so in the right direction, before dropping me at a ferry point where they said I could ask someone coming off the ferry for a ride back. At the time they dropped me off the sun had set and it was really getting dark. The temperature was plummeting equally fast.
There was no one in sight at this place, just a tiny waiting hut, and a gate.
I had no phone signal, no way of knowing where I was, no warm coat, no money on me, and one piddly snack bar left to eat. The waiting felt like
For
ever
and
ever
and
ever
Watching the far distant ferry approaching,
and the last light of the sun going down.
Listening with bated breath as the boat pulled to a stop, and cars began to make their way off.
Waving my arms like a wild animal for someone, anyone, to stop.
But all the cars drove past. Every last one of ‘em. It was too dark to notice me there.
Two hours waiting and my chance of a ride back gone in under two minutes.
My phone battery was almost dead, there wouldn’t be another ferry for hours, perhaps even until the next day. I doubt I’d have survived the chill overnight.
More hours went by.
I was even starting to think about whether I should leave a message for my mum in case she never saw me alive again (morbid, I know.)
Then, against the dense forest backdrop, a small beige car appeared. This rusty, 70s looking thing, cigarette smoke billowing out of the windows. Spluttering as it drove to a stop, and.
Silence.
I felt like I was in a horror film, you know the scene. A lone car pulls up in the middle of a pitch-black forest. The traveler gets in and next thing there’s a full-blown blood bath.
My imagination plays tricks on me at times, so I was already imagining the worst. But then I thought of the alternative.
Getting stranded overnight in the ice cold Norwegian middle of nowhere with no food, no water, no phone? Probably a death sentence.
And so I took the chance.
A large, dishevelled man, I’d guess in his 50s, smoking like a chimney, wound down the window, frown like a mashed potato. Tobacco fused with intense BO smacked me. A sharp contrast against the crisp, clean Norwegian air.
Ordinarily, I wouldn’t bat an eyelid, but in the context of a pitch-black forest with nothing and no-one else around, it was impossible not to. Still, I reminded myself that if anything this was probably a good sign. After all, everyone knows serial killers are more likely to be smartly dressed, smiling, and spritzed with the perfect aroma of aftershave. So I shoved the stereotypical assumptions to the back of my mind.
The man spoke barely a word of English and I spoke even less Norwegian, so trying to explain what the hell I was doing there was pretty tough. I figured he’d be catching the ferry so I’d probably be out of luck, but before I knew it he’d beckoned me into the passenger seat and turned the car around. Yup, I know. Scary shit.
I had no idea if this man knew what I meant, or if he was driving me to the right place. But I’d spent the day hiking a mountain since 5am, the day after a flight, without nearly enough food or water, so the second my head hit the seat and I felt the warmth of the car, my eyelids dropped like rocks.
The next thing I know I’m wiping the sleep from them to reveal Stavanger city centre, and I realise this complete stranger has understood me, and without question, driven me all the way back (two hours), out of sheer kindness. I will always be grateful for that.
During that short trip I proved to myself I could do whatever I put my mind to. And putting my trust in the phenomenal kindness of strangers is largely the reason I was able to. I was extremely lucky I didn’t meet my end, but regardless of the dangerous decisions I undoubtedly made, if I hadn’t taken those risks and been vulnerable with others, I doubt I’d have made it back alive. (Though a nice little disclaimer here: I’m not condoning late-night hitchhiking and getting into strangers cars. Norway is said to be the safest place for hitchhiking, so there was some semblance of sense behind trusting the scenario to pan out ok!)
I also realise that achieving things I set my mind to is one thing, but if I’m gonna do it I need to be smart about it. I had no backup plan for if anything scuppered my original ride back. Taking every available step to making sure you know what you’re doing, you have a reasonable plan of action, and you’re taking care of yourself, isn’t selfish or unadventurous. It’s the very thing that prevents needing to take the better of two risky decisions, rely on strangers for help, or potentially ruin someone’s day by having to ask for a two-hour ride in the opposite direction.
I’m fairly certain I learned more about myself in those four days than I’ve needed to in the entire four years since.
And those lessons still stick with me:
Whenever I question my own ability to succeed
Whenever anxiety threatens to get the better of me
Whenever I ponder if it’s too late to do the things I love
Whenever something seems impossible
And when I returned home
and arranged to meet up with the amazing guy I’d been seeing before my trip and tell him exactly how I felt, only to discover he was feeling the same.
Four years strong and we’re now every bit as in love and very happily engaged. So I’d say it was a risk worth taking.
So whatever risk you’re wondering if you should take.
Whether it’s telling someone how you honestly feel, pursing something you love, asking for help, taking the often terrifying leap from part-time side hustle to full time freelancing, or wondering whether to take a risk and put the words of your business into the hands of a copywriter.
Weigh up the odds.
Be brave.
