A couple of weeks ago, I returned home from a walk to find a missed call on my cell phone from my son. He had tried to reach me for something that he considered urgent. When I returned the call and he told me what the issue was, I said to him that it wasn’t even close to being a pressing matter. He of course disagreed with my assessment. He then asked why I didn’t answer when he called. I told him I didn’t have my phone with me at the time.

I almost never carry a cell phone when I am out walking. When I revealed this fact to my son on that call, he was quite astonished. He couldn’t fathom why anyone would own a portable communication device and not have it in their possession at all times. In his mind, all kinds of emergencies could have occurred in those couple of hours that I was out of the house. The prudent thing, in his view, is to make myself accessible, and more importantly, give myself the ability to reach out to someone if I were to face any danger. I couldn’t disagree with any of the things he said. But I also knew that I wasn’t going to change my habits because of those fears.

It is truly a miracle that I am still alive. I grew up on a farm in a remote West African village, located deep inside a jungle teeming with poisonous snakes and other dangerous creatures. Even if there had been cell phones back then, they would have been worthless in that environment. The only way a person in any danger could be taken to a hospital would have been by helicopter because the dense forest made the area inaccessible to vehicles. None of us knew what a helicopter was anyway to even ask for one if we had the means to. Over those many years, the unthinkable, someone having to carry a distressed person on their back and walk miles through that inhospitable terrain, never happened. Thankfully.

My son, on the other hand, was born in New England at the beginning of this century. The only world he has known in his twenty-three years of existence is one in which the stuff I had to endure in my childhood is seen as pure fiction. For me, his imaginary dangers, which he thinks necessitate carrying of cell phones at all times, are not things that I am programmed to worry about.

That conversation with my son later brought to mind the issue of risk tolerance. His thinking on ensuring access to lines of communication is definitely more rational than mine. However, there are opportunity costs associated with risk-mitigation and so we must constantly balance sacrifices against their benefits.

Despite the sleekness and compactness of today’s cell phones, I find them a bit too inconvenient to carry on me when I am out walking or jogging. They are cumbersome whether I keep them in my pocket or hold them in my hand. By leaving my phone at home to give me that hassle-free enjoyment of my time outdoors, I give up something on safety, as my son puts it, but I find that to be a reasonable risk to take. I survived all those years in the jungle so I don’t consider taking my chances in those short time periods outside of the house nowadays to be reckless.

I struggle mightily to find time these days. There are always a lot more things I would like to do than I can fit on any clock. There have been occasions when I am out walking and I wished I had a phone with me so I could listen to music or an audio book. I could indeed try to complete some to-do-list items during those walking hours. However, I would be making an additional sacrifice. It may appear that I am just out there taking steps, but I spend much of that time synthesizing my thoughts on all manner of subjects and formulating writing ideas. I always view that as a productive use of my time.

As I thought more about what my son said about external dangers, I began to wonder how much the environments and cultures we were raised in influence the degree to which we tolerate risk. Because I grew up surrounded by constant menace, I should naturally be paranoid and thus more inclined to hedge against all kinds of risks. That is generally true with me. But I am also aware that life is filled with uncertainties. There are simply too many things to account for, including some that are completely unknown to us until they occur. It is practically impossible to have full control over such a wide range of variables. I therefore try to hedge against some, and simply hope for the best on the others.

Something catastrophic happening during any of my walks in my neighborhood is one of those risks against which I am willing to go unhedged. Whether that is wise or not is in the eye of the beholder.