It can be something as simple as watching a serial killer in a hockey mask make mincemeat out of teenagers or as complex as centering your career around activities that would send most of us screaming into our teacups.
It's as though we wake up in the mornings thinking, "What can I do today to make my life even more dangerous?" It's bad enough to cope with speeding semis, debris falling from the sky, potholes big enough to sink into, and corporate bloodsuckers out to squeeze the very lifeblood from us.
But for some of us, that's not enough. Is there some primal need that has followed us since cave times? Do we need that adrenaline boost to convince us we still have the ability to jump to attention to evade our predators and keep our tribe safe?
Why else would we stand on a plane strut thousands of feet in the air, ready to shove off, supported all the way to earth by nothing more than some nylon cord and a patch of silk? Why fling ourselves face downward, fastened to a length of rope just long enough, we hope, to keep ourselves from being dashed to death on the rocks below?
From roller coasters to zip-lining to base jumping, we queue up for the chance to dare death.
I prefer to keep my feet firmly and safely on the ground, thank you. No daredevil stunts for me. No registering for space flights or even flying if I can help it. Does this mean I've lost my connection to my early ancestors?
If I think long enough,I guess I have to admit to the same need for fear as everyone else. I imagine I would have to count the two times I actually jumped from an airplane. But, I rationalize that by admitting to being in lust with one of the jumpers at the time, so maybe it doesn't count.
But then-I've been looking at these brochures they have for bungee jumping tours-Mmm. I wonder what that would feel like?