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the art of risking everything (on purpose)

I used to think life was a game you won by avoiding the dangerous hands, folding early, keeping your heart wrapped in bubble wrap and plausible deniability. Then it occurred to me that almost nothing remarkable has ever happened to me on a night when I played it safe. The unforgettable moments were always the reckless ones, the ones where I bet more than I meant to, said more than I planned to, or let someone see past the version of me I rehearsed.

I realized that the things that scare us tend to look suspiciously like the things that matter. And sometimes they show up in the shape of a certain someone who walks into a room like she’s carrying her own orbit and looks at you in a way that makes every carefully stacked excuse fall over like dominos. Suddenly the safe move feels like the wrong story, and the risky one feels like the one you’ll think about for years.

So I wrote myself a motto. Something I could carry in my pocket like a dare, something louder than my excuses and softer than my pride. Something that reminds me that the point isn’t to avoid falling, it’s to fall for the right reasons.

“Bet the heart, not the odds.”

It’s simple, but it hits like truth tends to hit: quietly, then all at once. Because the odds will scare you. They always do. But the heart? The heart knows exactly what it wants, even when you pretend you don’t. And if you’re lucky, you meet someone who makes the risk feel less like a cliff and more like a door you’ve been trying to open for a long time.

And if destiny wants to shuffle the deck again, fine. I’ll cut the cards myself.

So that’s the motto I’m choosing these days.
Bet the heart, not the odds.
Because every great story I’ve ever lived began exactly like that.