THE FREEDOM OF RISK
I choose me, I’m sorry.
~ Kendrick Lamar
What does ‘risk’ mean?
We have a misguided view of what risk truly means in our lives. In our modern reality, our decisions are based on how to optimize our paths in life — be it by maximizing our career trajectories, our income, or our overall stability. We believe that risky decisions often mean quitting our jobs without a safety net — without a job prepared before we leave our present employment. We associate risk-taking with career decisions.
In reality, however, the riskiest decision we will ever make in our lives, is to never take the risk of following our hearts.
Many people have some hunch about what is involved in exploring a new opportunity — an entrepreneurial journey, starting their own blog, adopting a new hobby, or perhaps quitting their day job altogether to pursue a creative interest.
Most of us, however, never take that leap of faith because we see it as unrealistic, naive, and risky.
Have you truly considered what risk means to you?
When I asked myself that question, I realized that my definition of risk wasn’t really mine but a concept I had adopted from others including my parents, friends, and coworkers. They defined career risk as not taking the necessary steps to climb the corporate ladder, and working their butts off for a promotion.
The concept of “eating shit” for years just to build a reputation, earn a decent salary, and have stability doing something I didn’t necessarily love began to sound like a complete scam and waste of my most valuable asset, my time.
To them, risk meant to pursue our true creative desires while we had life-energy within us. Instead, they believed we should put our most sincere desires “on ice” until we retire, have enough money saved, and have built a stable path throughout life.
This definition, however rational and sensible, did not resonate with me. In fact, it bothered me a lot.
So, I traveled through time to my eighty-year-old self and asked myself, what should risk mean to someone in their twenties?
Should taking a risk really mean that I should pause my most sincere creative interests just to build a stable path that, regardless of how much prestige, salary, or network it gave me, it made me feel drained — just like a dried raisin?
Should a life without risks mean I should build a respectable trajectory with financial and reputational potential just so when I become older, I can explore doing the things I already love doing now?
Alternatively, should risk mean following my intuition, taking a leap of faith — regardless of how painful that might feel — to explore my humanity to the fullest?
For me, the answer was a resounding ‘no.’ Instead, I envisioned my ideal life: spending time with my loved ones, exploring new relationships, doing good deeds just for the sake of them, and sharing my ideas with the world through my own voice.
ENTER KENDRICK LAMAR
I am a big fan of Kendrick Lamar. “Mirror” is one song, in particular, that has been on repeat in my playlist. Kendrick, in his new album, seems to be struggling with what he is expected to do versus what he believes is best for him: “I can’t live in the Matrix, rather fall short of your graces.” Throughout his entire album, Mr. Morale & Big Steppers, he candidly admits that he cannot continue to live according to the unrealistic ideal of being a role model or a leader people have bestowed upon him — and that he has bestowed upon himself.
This Matrix, in which Kendrick lives, is a facade and a burden of responsibility he no longer wishes to carry, and then he courageously accepts the consequences of no longer serving as the role model for his community. He no longer wishes to reinforce a facade he can’t identify with anymore — and he is strong enough to continue the separation between his persona and his true self.
Kendrick struggled with the fact that he adopted the role of savior during his career. The mask was wearing him down, and he was not wearing it. He admittedly says that the end was justifying the means — selfish behavior, toxic personality, infidelity, and egoistic patterns were just a way to fulfill his role as savior, and as long as he was the hero, any action he made was justified. He admits that therapy was a pivotal factor in his healing process and his profound realization that the savior complex was tearing him down and putting a ceiling on his actual potential (which is crazy to say when you are thought of as the leader of a whole generation).
The chorus is simple yet captures the essence of this book: “I choose me, I’m sorry.” He says it ten times: “I choose me, I’m sorry.” It is crazy — and powerful — to feel deep within that our own journey and self-discovery are more impactful than any expectations people may have of us. What’s crazier is that while Kendrick embarks on his own path, he fulfills the role of a leader, changing lives and inspiring millions as he expresses his true colors.
The day after I quit my job, I was told my departure from the office was an “ongoing discussion,” and they might be able to offer me a new role more tailored to my strengths. The idea appealed to my greedy and safe-seeking side. I could have a role in my “dream job,” not disappoint my family, and continue to carve a linear path toward success.
In short, I could stop myself from taking a risk.
I was inclined to express my interest in this new role but decided to step out of the office to clear my mind — and grab some lunch because I was starving.
I called my brother, told him about the situation, and parked for maybe ten minutes to speak with him and listen to what he had to say. When we finished our call, I entered the restaurant, and guess which song was playing in the background? “Mirror” by Kendrick Lamar, with the chorus, resounding in my ears.
My heart pounded. I knew right then and there this was a cosmic message. My Spidey senses activated, and my spine tingled.
There was no need for confirmation — the message was right there. Had I entered the restaurant a few moments earlier, the chorus would not be playing. Had I stayed in the car a few more minutes talking with my brother, I would have missed the song. The timing was perfect — beyond anyone’s comprehension.
Right then and there, I knew that my path was already in motion, and the only thing missing was to say to others’ expectations, to the pressure overtaking me, to the Matrix, and to my own self: “I choose me, I’m sorry.”
I chose to take the imaginary risk of pursuing what I love: of exploring what that might look like in life. Of building a career based on my life, rather than my life based on my career.
I decided to risk it all — while paradoxically saving myself from the real risk of never taking a risk: I began to write my book, continued to interview the world’s most brilliant minds; do open-mic stand up, start that startup I always wanted to start.
The real risk, in itself, lies within never taking a risk.
Deep down, I believe you also have the answer to that question.
When you ask yourself what risk truly means to you, consider how the idea of sitting at a desk, wearing a mask to please your bosses, and begging for a promotion makes you feel.
Think about how your life would look if you’d doubled down on your vision.
Reflect on what reality would feel like if you’d relentlessly build the life you want — regardless of how much money you have, or the network you have created, or the uncertainty that could emerge.
I invite you to picture a completely new life based on your intuition and not on mechanistic, corporate engagements.
The answer will probably make you uncomfortable — it did for me.
But I couldn’t wait another moment, fully understanding that I would not find my true calling by ignoring my feelings. The risk of waiting until “the time was right” to pursue my passions was a thousand-fold more dangerous than quitting my job.
So, after you dialogue with your eighty-year-old self and ask the tough questions, ask yourself again: What does risk mean to you?
Are you willing to pay the real price, the real risk, which means never actually risking anything in your life?
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