Is it safe?

Recently, spending time with loved ones exposed me repeatedly to this refrain. Often, as a precursor to avoid doing something seemingly risky. These are familiar words, a question that has taken up my valuable mental real estate for decades. It’s valid–of course, I want to stay alive, protect myself from unnecessary harm, keep myself humming along. Perhaps this is a question you often hold, out loud or in the interior recesses of your heart. 

But what does safety even mean, and what is the purpose of this question? Yes, keep biological life going–those vital organs thrumming, those limbs mobile. But is that it? Just keep your organism going so you can…keep going? What about the quality of your life? How is that going? 

It’s one thing to ask that question if you’re foraging mushrooms in the forest and you’re discerning which are poisonous and which are safe. Please, consult your field guide. But it’s quite another if you find yourself asking this question and it results in you continually playing small. Shrinking back from opportunities because you risk being seen, known and possibly rejected. You’re used to playing by the rules, and it’s gotten you far. Multiply that by years and life may feel predictable and comfortable, but how are you growing? How is that serving you? Is this the kind of life that you’re waking up excited to discover? 

What if another kind of life were possible? What if safety wasn’t just about biological life but about cultivating spaciousness for all the feelings, experiences and questions of fully living? What questions would we hold then?