Here’s the thing about risk: you actually have to take it.
That’s right — you can’t just talk about risk, imagine risk, or think about risk. At some point, you have to take the risk. And that means potentially losing something important to you. That’s what risk is: putting something meaningful on the line in the hope of gaining something greater. There is a likelihood — in fact, a definite possibility — that you will lose.
If you make a decision that doesn’t have the potential to hurt you significantly, then you’re not really taking a risk. Pretend all you want. Make loud, bodacious claims about your great risk-taking. Lie to yourself. But it’s obvious who takes risks and who doesn’t. Those who do fail spectacularly — but they also win big. They are the home run hitters.
Speaking of which, I’ve been thinking about baseball lately. Some of the most famous personalities known for their clutch home runs were also known for their tremendous failures at the plate. Reggie Jackson hit a lot of home runs in big games, but he also holds the all-time record for strikeouts. Sammy Sosa, Jim Thome, Alex Rodriguez, Mike Schmidt — and even Babe Ruth. Many of the game’s best power hitters struck out a lot — and that’s increasingly accepted in today’s game. The trade-off for elite power and run production often comes with more whiffs. Historically, teams have accepted that risk if the player produces enough value elsewhere.
Swinging big has consequences — that’s the reality. You cannot hedge against failure. Sure, you can have a fail-safe or a way out if things go badly, but if you don’t burn the boats, so to speak, you’re not going to win as big as you could have.
Speaking of burning the boats: Hernán Cortés famously ordered his ships scuttled and burned to prevent mutiny and force his soldiers to face the reality of the Aztec Empire or perish. How dramatic that actually was is debatable. Cortés was indeed a risk taker, but also known for his dramatic embellishments.
That brings me to another point.
Those who take real risks earn the right to talk about it with all the flair they want. They’re the ones who threw it all on the line and came out victorious. No one can take that away from them. They will go to their deathbeds knowing they faced impossible odds — and still managed to win.
Cortés spent most of his later years in legal battles and died of natural causes in his sixties. He didn’t die on one of his flamboyant journeys or in the middle of one of his many failures. He was buried in Mexico City. A brutal colonialist, yes, but also a ruthless, ambitious, bold risk-taker — someone many consider to embody the spirit that would eventually become Mexico.
I certainly don’t condone most of what Cortés — or many of the other explorers — did, but I can appreciate the idea of risking everything despite the countless perils of a long voyage. This persona — the world explorer seeking treasure and conquest — is the metaphor for real risk.
You can’t ease yourself into lukewarm water and call yourself brave. You have to plunge into the unknown, potentially risking everything for something unexpected.
If you spend too much time thinking about it — weighing the odds, considering every consequence, evaluating every possibility — then you’re not taking a risk. By the time you reach the summit of whatever hill you’re climbing, someone else will have paved a walkway, installed a handrail, and made you pack your waste out in a plastic bag.
Reaching the summit of something extraordinary and new requires an early start — before the Sierra Club figures it out and starts to “protect it.”
The world of risk is uncertain, scary, uncharted, and mysterious. It isn’t mapped out, planned, or well-lit with guardrails and emergency SOS buttons. Yes, you can take a risk — but it won’t be the easy path. It’s the hard one, riddled with the wreckage of those who tried and failed.
Yes, you are capable of great things — but are you willing to risk what’s necessary to achieve them?
That’s the question.
What’s your answer?
