Friday. 4:00 pm. The phone rings.
It's Charles.
"Hello?"
"You haven't checked your email!"
"um..."
"I'm about to ride into Daytona. You need to get on a plane and come down here."
Three second pause...
"Ok. Let me check Expedia and call you back."
"Pack light."
With barely hesitation, I was looking for flights to get me from Raleigh to Daytona that night. Because he called me and wanted me to be there. And there was nowhere else that I would rather be.
I know the things I said and the things he said. And I haven't changed my mind about how I want to spend my time doing things that I enjoy.
But in those three seconds it took me to decide I knew that we would have fun, it would be an adventure and it would make me happy. Which are generally the requirements for most crazy-ass shit that I do.
So after some searching, I booked myself on a flight the next day. I'd be in Daytona Saturday afternoon. Just 24 hours from then.
It would be either a really good decision, or a really bad decision. There would be no in between.
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