# Risks in Plain Text

## Shadows We All Carry

Every path forward holds uncertainties. A new job, a deep conversation, or a quiet dream deferred—they linger like fog, heavy because they're unnamed. We feel them in our chests, but avoid staring too long. Yet in that avoidance, they grow. On this winter day in 2025, I sit with mine, not as enemies, but as old companions.

## The Act of Writing

Imagine risks as lines in a simple file, plain words on a screen. No flourish, just truth:

- The chance of heartbreak in loving fully.
- Failure in chasing what matters.
- Loneliness after letting go.

Markdown strips away pretense. It says, "Here they are." Naming them doesn't erase the pull, but it lightens the load. They become maps, not monsters. I learned this from a friend who, facing illness, listed her fears on a scrap of paper. Not to conquer them, but to walk beside them.

## Gentle Steps Ahead

With risks written, choices clarify. We don't leap blindly; we step with eyes open. This isn't about bravery's roar, but a steady breath. Life unfolds not despite the risks, but through them—richer, more real. Today, I add one more line to my own list and keep going.

*In the quiet of naming, we find our way.*