A brief meditation on the subject of taking risks.
All but the most casual observer would note that I happen to be willing to take risks from time to time. Some small (recreational risks, like rock climbing, whitewater kayaking, etc.), some much larger (like transcontinental life relocation). Notably, however, unlike some people (including my brother), I don't have the risk-taking, adrenaline-junkie gene. Indeed, I spend much of my recreational risk-taking time silently screaming in my mind (the other skiers on the double-blacks tend to frown if you actually scream out loud, so I figure this works best for all concerned).
The reality is, I'm actually quite risk adverse. BUT, I have confidence in my ability to assess and manage risk. Maybe it's 12 years of living with someone in the brokerage industry, but I never forget: no risk, no reward. Just don't be stupid about it. Identify and quantify the risk, then figure out how to manage it. THEN, if it's worth it, do it.
All that being said, when the bartender here poured me a shot composed of equal parts tequila and Tabasco sauce and told me it was called a "Buffalo Fart," I politely walked away. And never looked back.