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I want to stay alive for a very long time. I eat well, I exercise regularly, I drive to the speed limit, and I assiduously avoid things that are likely to kill me. Staying alive is my number one priority in life. And it astounds me that it is not everybody else’s.

There are plenty of people who willingly risk their lives for fun, or for profit, or for both. Think of the five voyagers of the Titan submersible, who descended to the bottom of the ocean to see some wreckage through a single porthole. Think of the free solo climbers who scale mountains without a safety rope or backup. Think of the skydivers, one of whom tragically died this week when a new and risky landing went wrong.

Tom Cruise promoting the latest Mission: Impossible movie in Sydney on Sunday.Credit: Getty

Think of movie star Tom Cruise, notorious for doing his own stunts. Cruise has scaled buildings, leaped onto moving planes, and jumped off high walls, all for his art. For his latest film, Mission Impossible: Dead Reckoning Part One, he “speed-flew”, or, in layman’s terms, drove a motorcycle off a cliff.

I have watched enough documentaries about extreme sports to understand why some people take calculated risks. Being a climber or skydiver or action movie star gives their lives meaning, and the thrill of engaging in their passion trumps any concerns about their safety. If they die in the process – which some of them do – they will die “doing what they love”.

I understand this, but I cannot relate. My passion is being alive, and I would love more than anything to do that for a very long time.

Now, this means that I might miss out on exciting experiences like cave diving or base jumping or flying on a bike. And honestly, I’m fine with that. I rode in a helicopter once, and I was anxious the whole time. Giving up further opportunities to fear for my life doesn’t seem like a sacrifice at all.

Still, many would disagree. “The dangers of life are infinite, and among them is safety,” said German literary giant Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, and I understand his point. When we focus too much on risk avoidance, we risk avoiding life itself.

So, I take risks in other areas of my life. I was on dating apps for eight years, which is about as emotionally risky as you can get. I bore three children, and now carry around three hearts in addition to my own. And I write for this masthead, which leaves me vulnerable to criticism, and even derision, on social media. (No doubt a number of you will message me upon reading this, pitying me for my safe little life.)

But I can survive emotional damage. I cannot survive death. So, I am not prepared to take physical risks, beyond the ones I deem strictly necessary. I drive a car. I travel in planes. I cross the road. But I do not ever wish to get back in a helicopter, or ride a motorcycle, or jump out of a plane, or – god forbid – travel in a submersible.

I used to be married to someone with a very high threshold for risk, and it was a source of great tension in our marriage. He was the one who booked the helicopter ride, despite a fatal crash just the week before. (I wasn’t aware of the crash until after the ride, and, frankly, I would have preferred not to know.) Now I am in a new relationship, and grateful that my partner shares my preoccupation with safety. Our shared future will be blessedly free of small aircraft, deep seas, and steep cliffs.

Risk-takers perplex me, but they deeply fascinate me, too. I can watch Instagram Reels of people scaling mountains or descending into caves all day long. And I will, no doubt, thoroughly enjoy Mission Impossible, from the comfort and security of my cinema seat.

I am well aware that my risk aversion may rob me of some thrills. But as I look both ways before I cross the road, being alive is quite exciting enough for me.

Kerri Sackville is a published author and regular columnist.

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