What if it turns out alright?

I recently bought a record player off Facebook Marketplace. For the last three months, I've been slowly building a record collection. My plan was simple: buy what I already know I love and leave the discovery to my $13-a-month (and counting) Spotify Premium account.

But in a record shop in Charleston, South Carolina, I deviated from the plan. I found what is now my favorite record for $1.99. It's an Aretha Franklin record called Sweet Passion. I didn't recognize a single song on it. All I knew was that Aretha could sing. Worst case, I'd spend two dollars listening to a great voice.

That $1.99 record has become my favorite purchase out of seven and counting.

Sometimes I think I assume happiness works like my 401(k), Roth IRA, or Robinhood account. As long as I play the long game, the more I put in, the more I should get back.

If I give enough time, effort, and understanding to a relationship, surely it has to become something permanent. If I keep my car spotless and not a single hair on my head out of place, the return of being pleased should at least match the investment. Maybe even exceed it.

I have a habit of holding onto things long after they've stopped giving me anything, convinced the payoff is still somewhere over the horizon. At the same time, I often avoid committing to new habits, relationships, or decisions until I can predict the outcome. I wait for certainty before I move.

But certainty has never put my favorite record (with originals and covers not found on Spotify btw) on the turntable.

Lately, I've wondered how my life would look if I'd stayed longer in London. If I'd bargained more aggressively in the markets of Marrakech. If I'd made more friends in Cape Town. Wondering, not with regret or judgment, but with pure curiosity. Curious what my life might look like today if I had been a little less certain.

I bought Sweet Passion without a plan. Without knowing the songs and without any guarantee that I would love what I heard. There was no assurance of return.

And that's what I've been thinking on lately.

Some of the best things in my life haven't come from carefully optimizing for the highest return. They've come from small bets, imperfect plans, and saying yes before I knew exactly where something would lead.

Of course, so have some of the hardest things.

Big love and big heartbreak. Big ambitions and bigger disappointments.

But I cannot live my life trying to avoid the bad… cause…. like… what if it turns out alright?

So I’m trying to take more $1.99 risks. Maybe it's a dollar. Maybe it's an hour. Maybe it's a conversation, a trip, or a choice that doesn't come with a spreadsheet explaining exactly how it will work out. The price isn't really the point.

Maybe it brings unexpected joy. Maybe it doesn't.

But every now and then, a $1.99 gamble becomes your favorite thing.

I'll get back to posting about health soon. For now, I'm thinking about Aretha.