I'm one of the people that loves thunderstorms.  I've known many, even in the city, who are scared of lightning, huddling under awnings when no other shelter is available and clinging to the perception of safety.  I revel in the power and savagery, walking home through the downpour in the open even without an umbrella.  Clothes will dry; the exhilaration I feel from the electricity in the air is something to be treasured.  Even inside I'll get closest to the nearest window to watch the storm unfold in all its fury.

The same impulse seems to be tied to risk-taking.  Those who are like me often are willing to ride the wildest rollercoasters, swim into the deepest waters, and yearn to experience that rush of adrenaline that can't be mimicked in many other ways.  Yet I've learned to draw the line.  There are the semi-innocent thrills where you know you're safe as on rollercoasters with safety bars or swimming out with a lifeguard there.  Then there are the truly dangerous thrills I try to steer away from now, like coming home late at night on vacation and swimming out into the ocean at 1 am with no one knowing.  Times when I would stand at the edge, sometimes figuratively, sometimes literally, just to know that rush and that I would stand up to it.

I'm trying to be more conservative with these, and remind myself what's a safe rush and what a normal person would consider out of bounds.  Somewhere along the way I misplaced my sense of self-preservation and I'm trying to get it back.  I believe it will come since I've made so much progress, but in the meantime I'll be content with the thrill of a thunderstorm.