Look to the ground

SOME MONTHS AGO, I read a post from climate journalist Andy Revkin about how we should respond to expanding tornado danger zones in the US. Revkin’s take was that since we have no power to impact the storms themselves, our focus should be on reducing vulnerability to them—e.g., by building storm shelters and sturdy housing. He wrote, “Risk is the probability of harm, not the probability of storm.”

Risk is the probability of harm, not the probability of storm. That’s been rattling around in my head ever since.

In the past month, I’ve talked to many people on the cusp of some big change: taking lead of an ambitious project, leaving a comfortable job, accepting a new and bigger role. Most of them have been beset by a mixture of excitement and dread. Excitement about having things to look forward to, often projects or opportunities that have been anticipated for a while and are now, finally, accessible. Dread about making the wrong choice, about foreclosing possibilities, about inviting future regret. There’s so much risk in choosing to do x instead of y, absent any ability to know what will happen after that choice is made.

We can’t know what storms are coming for us.

Often I’ll hear people say, to themselves as much as to anyone, “How do I make the right decision?” But no one needs me to tell them that identifying which decision is the “right” one is nigh impossible. Perhaps a more instructive question is, “What’s the potential harm that might emerge from this decision, and what structures might protect us from that harm?” Can you devise an early warning system? Can you build a storm shelter? Can you clear a path to safety, have a go bag at the ready?

In other words, rather than trying to predict which choice is the best or safest or most “right,” can you take steps to reduce your vulnerability?

What’s interesting about that question is that it rarely invites a solitary answer. An early warning system likely means sharing your own experiences, and listening intently as others do the same. A storm shelter might consist of a coalition of peers who agree to collaborate on each other’s success; or a network of former colleagues who counsel and support each other; or a union-negotiated agreement for minimum levels of severance. A path to safety usually involves reaching out to people who can help light the way forward. Being less vulnerable nearly always means being less alone.

So rather than staring at the skyline, hoping the clouds remain at bay, we can look to the ground, to the shelters and walkways and rooftops, to the people with shovels and timber and concrete. It won’t make those big decisions any easier—big decisions are always hard, I’m sorry to say. But it will give you something to do besides worry, some place to put your hands and feet to good use. Instead of spending time trying to ascertain the formula for the perfect decision, you can dig a hole or pack a bag or lend a hand. And then someday, when you need it, someone else can do the same for you.