Sometimes a therapist tells you what to do.
Sometimes a cop.
Sometimes, someone in a workshop
tells you to maybe go to a therapist or a cop.

“Society has rules!” he says, a note of frustration entering his voice.
“They’re really only ideas that make sense most of the time,”
I think, but sense it’s not really the time to say it.

It’s a storytelling workshop, but I don’t think the story that I suggested
is the real story here.

I had suggested that I relate the tale of “liberating” furniture
from my former establishment of higher education,
a harmless enough prank,
and then followed up with minor incidents like
reckless endangerment of an elder
and shoplifting
and breaking & entering, leading to unemployment
and inadvertent feline mutilation.

This led to the leader’s sense of frustration, and suggestion
that possibly, moral direction might be in order.

“You seem to have a curious relationship with risk,” he says,
when calmed down.
Intriguing. I’ve always thought of myself as incredibly risk averse.

I guess there are different kinds of risks
– or different things that one might perceive as risky.

Story telling, for example, seems like a risky extension
of my existing skill set.
Or a challenging one. I haven’t really tried it yet,
and I’m anxious.

The workshop hasn’t quite gotten me comfortable enough
yet.