Risk-Taking For The Risk-Averse

Risky. I took the picture above at an event I volunteered at this summer — ZoieLogic Dance Theatre performing Ride at South East Dance’s Our City Dances Festival in Brighton.

Bit of context for you: I am openly and happily a fairly risk-averse sort. Not nearly rock and roll enough to be one of life’s big risk takers.

This one is a bit of a rambler, and a personal one to boot, so be warned and embark upon the read at your own risk.

Light bulb moment

I was listening to a new podcast the other day — Deliciously Ella: The Podcast (for some reason I feel the need to apologise for this already). If you can manage to re-adjust those raised eyebrows for a moment and, even better, give it a listen yourself, you may learn something good (and new).

In the podcast they were talking about food waste. We all know it happens, and I’d wager that most of us are guilty of it at times. Even on a small scale. So I was intrigued, enlightened, and yes, excited, to hear from this week’s guest, Tessa Clarke, about the business she co-founded: Olio.

OLIO connects neighbours with each other and with local businesses so surplus food can be shared, not thrown away. This could be food nearing its sell-by date in local stores, spare home-grown vegetables, bread from your baker, or the groceries in your fridge when you go away.

Like freecycle for food.

I’ve decided to download the app and give it a whirl — I’ll let you know how it goes.

Food waste is a massive problem — and this conversation made me stop to consider just how massive a problem it really is. But what I loved about their conversation was the angle they took. Tessa and her co-founder Saaccha had been very solution-focused in starting Olio and in doing so they took risks, like all startups and businesses do. But their risks were calculated with a wider perspective, one which allowed them to challenge the status quo and with a true sense of purpose in mind. They passionately believe in the change they want to see in the world.

So this got me thinking that (a) I will download the app and “join the food sharing revolution”, EXCELLENT, and (b) why am I procrastinating about telling my own comparatively insignificant but possibly vaguely relevant to somebody somewhere story of risk taking?

Hold onto your hats. This will likely be the most unremarkable story you’ve heard all day.

Burnout

I was another one of those burnt out thirty-somethings.

Resolutely cracking on (“crack on” became my parrot-like catchphrase in my last job) and letting my health suffer as I compulsively over-committed in many areas of my life, rarely relenting for fear of letting people down and because of that they they call ‘drive’.

Outwardly alright, good at persevering, pretty good at being cheerful (even though my body was screaming at me to stop, and had been for some time), I learned that many of the things that I (and society) had always attributed as positive character traits — ‘hard-working’, ‘positive’, ‘can-do’, ‘ambitious’ etc — had slowly been doing me harm over the years. Draining my body of it’s reserves.

Not to say that these are bad things. Quite the contrary, I still believe. But science says that for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction, so no doubt you can ‘do the math’.

Anyway, these things remain part of my identity, but only part of it. In fact they’ve always been just part of it. But in recent years I allowed them to become unhealthily dominant without even realising it.

There were warning signs. At one stage my hair was falling out in handfuls — a definite red flag! And I still only took the warnings semi-mindfully and semi-seriously. Because I knew that I could keep going and doing the things I was driven to do anyway. Like, I was really good at keeping going and still doing some good work, maintaining a very full diary and, you know, cracking on. As many of us do.

Every machine is built to be operated in an optimum way. When you learn to drive you’re taught how to accelerate and change gear economically, so as to reduce the wear and tear on the vehicle, use fuel in a more economical way, and ultimately make it last so you don’t end up unduly breaking down on the M23 and having to step away from the vehicle and call the AA. How ruddy inconvenient.

The M23 thing for me wasn’t a singular incident. A bunch of things that happened over the past 18 months or so served as contributors. It’s irrelevant to go into the finer details here, but needless to say I came to find myself in a situation that I felt to be the absolute opposite of my choosing. The circumstances that led to what happened next were partly out of my control. But only partly, I realised (with the support and wisdom of lovely friends and family).

And so for a genuine melting pot of personal and professional reasons, the thing that happened next took the shape of a resignation.

I never imagined that I would do that. Especially without another job to go to.

But this was a case of (finally) wising the fuck up. Being honest. And giving myself permission to do something against my grain, against the grain (wildly, for me), and certainly against the expectations of those around me in a professional context.

Preparation

Disclaimer: I am not advocating quitting your job without a back up plan, far from it. Self funding and taking a sabbatical for the reasons I did was hard. But…

I took one! Bloody Nora.

A quick reminder from Collins English Dictionary:

Risk-taking means taking actions which might have unpleasant or undesirable results.

In my case that meant not making rent, not paying bills, literally running out of money, perceived possible damage to my future career, adverse opinions and judgements from people I care for and respect (professionally and personally) and the theoretical possibility of loss of independence if it really did all go to shit.

Those are all significant things by most people’s standards. The basics (food and shelter) and good things to strive for in life in order to be a good citizen, contribute to society and find some personal purpose and fulfillment along the way.

Making the sabbatical happen required me to tap into the determination and discipline that had (ironically) characterized the circumstances that led me to sabbatical land.

I made a plan (love a plan).

I considered the pros and cons.

I sketched out a bunch of scenarios for during and after the sabbatical.

I crunched a whole lotta numbers.

Crucially, I shared my plan for advice and feedback from those close to me. (Thank you, you know who you are.)

A combination of even tighter belt tightening (I’m a reasonably frugal sort anyway), re-prioritising how I spent my time and money for months on end and dipping into my admittedly meagre life-savings (bye bye, imaginary house that I will never buy anyway) for a period of time gave me what I needed and no more. It was a challenge because the basic cost of living is so bloody high where I live, but it was doable. Eventually.

But it still felt like a massive risk.

Risky because I wouldn’t be earning for a few months. Risky because — holy cow! — how would it look if I dared step out of the meat, sorry, job market for a couple of months? Risky because I had always thrived on being busy and am a fidget both physically and mentally, and could I successfully refocus myself and my time outside of being full time employed?

I got cold feet more than once.

But you know what, I absolutely had the advantage of being able to make this decision and use my own personal resourcefulness for myself. I don’t have the responsibility of children to provide for, or dependents to care for. This is true. And I’m learning not to apologise for it. Because those are just my circumstances, for better or worse. There are checks and balances in life. And risks are all relative.

As the brilliant Lizzie Hodgson said to me:

“GET SOME F***ING PERSPECTIVE”.

So I got over myself and did.

At the top of my sabbatical plan spreadsheet — yes I had one, and it was an important and purposeful part of the process for me — I had written a note to self:

Rowena — you will likely get cold feet and anxiety at the last minute.

Sit with it.

Listen to your gut.

The risks of this plan are less than the risks of staying where you are, doing what you’re doing.

(Also, stop overthinking things, you moron.)

Sabbatical

The summer sabbatical itself was an excellent thing.

I was lucky to spend much more time with my friends, family and the people that matter most to me, I got stuck into regular volunteering work with Brighton Natural Health Centre, a local charity that I’m a Trustee for, I did some pro-bono work for friends, I moved around a bit. I swam in the sea, spent more time outside, spent more time finding new and free things to do. I met new people, nurtured new relationships. I READ SOME BOOKS. For my personal and professional development and for fun. I gave my body and my mind a break from it’s buzzy coiled-spring previous state of being. Low key, unglamorous, rejuvenating, peaceful.

Don’t vomit. This may sound very privileged etc. But it’s just what happened.

I am HUGELY grateful to the people that supported me to take that risky leap of faith and made me realise that I was resourceful enough to do it on my own with their wisdom and cheer-leading at my back.

There has been one other risk I’ve taken in my life that was so scary and pivotal. It worked out and I didn’t look back. This has been the second such risk, and, with the benefit of hindsight, I can’t imagine not having taken it.

After all, what’s all the fuss about?

Risks are all relative and there are millions of people in this world taking far, far greater ones every single day.

Now

Fast forward to now and I have started the post-sabbatical career path.

Freelance. Open to ideas and opportunities and options I haven’t yet thought of. Stagnation and lack of variety are not the name of the game. New experiences and a more balanced (yet still dedicated) sense of purpose are.

I’ll keep you posted.

And in the meantime — whatever risk you’re considering taking right now in your life, no matter how big or small, if your gut is pulling you in that direction, chances are it’ll be worth it.

Yes it might be challenging.

But be bold.

Challenge your default perspectives.

Be honest with yourself about how risky those risks really are.

And give yourself permission to do it anyway.