Soulful Sundays: Risk

"You miss 100% of the shots you don’t take." — Wayne Gretzky

No matter how much we try to deny it, life involves risk. Every day we are alive, there is a non-zero chance of injury—or death. Ironically, staying home in the supposed safety of our comfort zones can sometimes increase those risks. Risk is not just a part of life; it’s a defining feature of growth. From childhood to adulthood, we are repeatedly called to step into the unknown. The risks we take reveal not only the nature of the world but also the shape of our own character. Without the awkward vulnerability of uncertainty, we do not grow—not as humans, and not as souls.

In Chinese medicine, fear is governed by the Water Element. It is considered a foundational emotion, arising early in life when we are most vulnerable. As infants and young children, we are utterly dependent on the care of others. That dependency comes with a deep, unconscious anxiety—because to be abandoned at that stage is, quite literally, to face death. Babies quickly learn the behaviors that elicit the attention and affection they need. This is the root of the unconditional love that healthy parents often describe: a powerful instinct to do whatever is necessary to ensure the survival and thriving of their child.

As children grow—learning to crawl, walk, and eat solid foods—they begin to develop a sense of autonomy. Each milestone becomes a small step toward independence. But this developmental path is not guaranteed. Maturation depends on a child’s ability to assess risk, make decisions, and learn from the outcome. Too often, well-meaning parents disrupt this process by over-controlling their children’s experiences. The result is a pattern of codependency that can persist long into adulthood.

In the 1950s, British psychoanalyst D.W. Winnicott introduced the concept of the “good enough mother.” He wrote, “The good-enough mother...starts off being everything to the baby. But then she fails the infant in manageable ways, over time, so that the child can begin to experience frustration, develop independence, and tolerate reality.”

This principle applies equally to fathers. In fact, fathers often model risk tolerance through more challenging play—roughhousing, games of uncertainty, and spontaneous adventures. These interactions teach children that discomfort is not always danger, that they are active participants in their own development, and that not everything in life will go as planned. In this way, both mother and father support the child’s journey toward self-reliance.

The virtue of the Water Element is wisdom. Wisdom cuts through the anxiety that arises from excessive fear. It offers clarity, calm, and a sense of inner direction. But wisdom is not bestowed—it is earned. It comes through inspiration and experience, and the former means little without the grounding of the latter. One can study sacred texts—the Bible, the Tao Te Ching, the Torah, the Bhagavad Gita—and still have no idea how to live wisely. Teachings can guide, but only action transforms.

So we must learn to value risk, not as recklessness, but as a necessary part of becoming whole. Every decision we make carries both visible and hidden consequences. The future will never be certain—but that’s not a reason to stand still. By definition, we will fail at anything we don’t attempt. And in that sense, the greatest risk is never to try at all.