what’s on your horizon

For the last few months, I have been contemplating a statement I heard.

But what do I mean by 'contemplating'?

I have been repeating it to anyone who will listen, I have mulled it over in my head countless times, I have considered its meaning and how it applies to my life and the lives of our children, and I have wondered how I can bring it to fruition in 2025.

I have been known to get excessively excited about a thought one day and promptly forget it the next. But with these particular words, it’s been different. They keep pushing through the rest of the clutter in my mind, nudging me - this is important.

So let me back up and tell you this story from the beginning.

If you have read my pieces in the past, you probably know that I am a David Brooks fan. I read his weekly columns in The New York Times and I have read most of his books; I wish I could write like him.

I don’t always agree with him, but he makes me think. And he has a way of integrating research with his personal stories that is effective and brilliant.

So imagine my excitement when I heard that David Brooks was speaking at the high school where three of our four children graduated and where I served for 11 years on the board. Surely I could get an invitation.

Self-importance aside, I was denied, but promised a recording of his talk.

And when I got over my disappointment and finally received the password-protected Vimeo, I sat back at my computer with a good cup of coffee and listened.

Brooks’ talk was based on his latest New York Times bestseller, How to Know a Person: The Art of Seeing Others Deeply and Being Seen Deeply, which was also the school’s summer read. I, too, had read his book, so I was familiar with much of what he had to say.

Towards the end of his talk, he looked up at the auditorium full of teenagers and said the words that have kept me company these past few months - the words that I could have glossed over, but I didn’t - and the words that I have been considering as I go into the new year.

“You need to widen your horizon of risk.”

What?

My initial reaction was shock. How can anyone tell teenagers that they need to “widen their horizon of risk?” I spent the last 20 years trying to teach my own to avoid risk - or, more specifically, risky behaviors - and to put safety first.

But then I realized that “risk” does not just describe the threatening behaviors I was hoping my children would avoid - alcohol, drugs, unprotected sex, and reckless driving.

The “risk” that Brooks is talking about is the “risk” that has the potential of enlarging our life, not necessarily endangering it. I needed to widen my own understanding of “risk.”

And so, I considered our young adult children and wondered - were they “widening their horizon of risk?”

Last week, I received a beautiful note from a friend. In it, she wrote, “You must be very proud of your children’s accomplishments.” I took a moment to think about that.

And of course, I am. But what I am proud of has less to do with the schools, jobs, and accomplishments that usually garner attention, and more to do with how they have been willing to “widen their horizon of risk.”

One child has persevered through tough challenges. Another one has moved away from the only home he knows to a foreign country to work. Another has fallen in love, taking on with grace all the beauty, complexities, and expectations of a relationship. And still another has chosen to take a year, far off the beaten path, to learn about the world and herself before she goes to college.

And as I thought about the risks that they were taking, I questioned my own.

Truth be told, I am happiest when I am snuggled and warm and well within my comfort zone.

Picture this - a good book, my computer, maybe a pen and a journal, a dog or two, the cat, a snack, a cozy blanket, sweatpants, a scrunchie, and a roaring fire.

That is my definition of security—where nothing can hurt me and I feel sheltered and safe and unafraid.

And that is where I love to be. Honestly, much in this world frightens me.

But it makes me think of this quote attributed to John A. Shedd, “A ship in a harbor is safe, but that is not what ships are built for.”

And I know that on the occasion when I do push myself out of the bunker, I learn and grow, and my world gets bigger. That is what we are built for.

So where is the risk on my horizon?

Let’s just say I won’t be jumping out of a plane or bungee jumping off the side of a cliff (like a certain daughter of mine), but I do have risk on my mind.

Just the other day, I was blathering on about this very subject to an unlucky victim, and it occurred to me that writing truthfully and from the heart is a risk. Anytime we put ourselves out there, we risk rejection.

We also welcome connection. And connection has certainly expanded my world, for which I am grateful.

And looking ahead into 2025, I plan on “widening my horizon of risk” more.

I’ve already said yes to something that terrifies me.

And although I am scared to fly, I plan to say yes to more travel, more time beyond the harbor.

And as Brooks’ title proposes, I want to see others more deeply and allow myself to be seen more deeply - certainly there is risk involved in both.

Returning for a moment to Brooks’ talk, he asked this question before concluding:

“What would you do if you weren’t afraid?”

With that in mind, as I look out on the horizon of the new year—where earth or sea meets the sky—I wish everyone curiosity and courage to seek that which scares you, but also makes you feel most alive.