What it Means to Survive
The last time I tried out for Survivor was in 2013.
I was healthy.
Or at least, I thought I was.
(I had no idea that taking .5 mg of Klonopin at bedtime as prescribed was destroying my brain and my central nervous system.)
After 33 months of healing, I’m feeling well enough to be a contestant on Survivor.
I have no idea how I’d do.
I like to think I’m strong, but last week I got a bunch of splinters in my fingers and I complained for days.
I can handle extreme heat, but relentless rain? Not so much.
I get along with nearly everyone, and I find people endlessly fascinating.
But living with strangers? For over a month? In less than 4-star accommodations?
That could be rough.
This weekend, I enlisted a friend to help me make a video.
And yesterday, I submitted my video to Jeff Probst.
So, three years later, I’m crossing my fingers.
Here it is for your viewing pleasure.
If you are moved to tweet this post to @SurvivorCasting & @JeffProbst, I’d be grateful.
tweet me @rasjacobson