Sunday. February.

Productive weekend.

I didn't do much, physically. But I kind of got my brain in order after suffering a mid-morning demise on the crux of my future.

Yes, I'm still at home. Applying for jobs from afar and getting little to nowhere. (Now is definitely not the time to throw the "You have as many hours in your day as Beyonce" line at me. I cannot control the outcome of my emotions, or fists for that matter, if so.)

I knew the imbalance of applications to responses would soon get to me, deflating my forced posivibes, but I didn't realise that it would kind of be a good thing. What do they say? It is how we perform at our lowest, that truly defines us? Probably not that, at all. But you get the gist. I had to feel desolate, despondent and contemplative to understand what I wanted, and to really know whether I was willing to fight for what I wanted.

Ridiculous, or not. Pure stupidity, or not. I am ready. I am ready and willing and able and excited.

It led me to the concept of risks. It will be a risk. Perhaps my biggest. I have never been less set up in a new city of intended dwelling.

But I do think it is our risks that define us. How we risk, what we do for our risks, whether we risk at all. Our risks can be the worst thing that ever happens to us, and they can be the best. Either way, taking the risk - the biggest step, will allow us piece of mind. We will find out one way or another if our risk was the right thing to do.

Life is full of little risks.

I am excited for my next one. It may be a terrible idea; action lacking plan or a misstep, a blimp in intention, founded on a whimsical wish or a dream without sense.

Risks are different, for everyone, but the important thing is that we face them instead of running away, or turning our back. Life is risks. Sometimes they are the basis for our finest moments, our best memories, those tales we pass down to any willing ears.

At least for me, if this risk fails; it is merely a three hour flight home.

Remind me never to get into extreme sports.