Vanity, the Great Motivator
I’ve written about being a charter member of the Church of Devout Cowardice and how in my sixties, I finally decided I might as well risk riding down a luge on a tour in Austria, since I was already in pain and in a wheelchair.
Recently, I turned seventy-five about the same time my great-grandson turned sixteen . I suggested we celebrate together by riding a new zip line in our area. But, he must have inherited my genes and joined my old church, because he said, “NO WAY!”
Then to my dismay, I discovered that the upper age limit is sixty-five. I considered trying to get a fake ID, but thought perhaps that was a bad example for my great-grandchildren.
Suddenly, I ugly laughed out loud, remembering that a few weeks ago, I had done something with a lot more potential for serious injury than riding a zip line.
We were invited to go out to dinner and the symphony with some young and glamorous family members, so I bought my first pair of high heels in about twenty-years. Even after several days of practice walking in them, I had to cling to my husband’s arm most of the evening. (I left my walker at home. Somehow, it seemed to defeat the effect of the high heels.)
Adventure has nothing on vanity as a motive for risk taking.