I Don’t Jump Blindly. I Jump Knowingly
Understanding how to calculate, manage, and navigate risk with confidence and purpose.
Jumping Knowingly
I love taking risks. I find them fun, exciting, and fulfilling. And before you ask... yes, I find them scary too. But I don't let fear drive me. Instead, I let it become part of the risk analysis equation I use to balance my creative and analytical sides.
I don't jump blindly.
I jump knowingly.
The Framework
Here's how I came to think this way. Before I get into the stories that shaped me, it helps to start with the framework I use today.
We often talk about the cost of risk using a simple equation, measuring whether the risk itself is worth taking.
Risk = Probability × Severity
Let's apply that framework to a simple example:
I want to try skydiving.
Is it worth it?
Is the risk worth the potential consequences?
We tend to focus on the worst possible outcome rather than the most likely one. Different risks have different probabilities and different levels of severity. How do we decide which risks deserve the most attention? Are there multiple risks that need to be managed? If so, do they all require the same level of preparation?
Once we recognize that more than one risk may exist at a time, another important question emerges.
The Other Side of Risk
Every risk has another side.
What happens if I don't take it?
If I choose not to skydive, I'll probably remain perfectly healthy—and perhaps perfectly sensible, depending on your opinion of jumping out of a perfectly good airplane.
But there is another potential cost.
Regret.
A limit I've placed on myself.
Experiences I'll never have.
If I'm not aware of those hidden costs, they can quietly become ingrained as limiting beliefs or unconscious biases.
We rarely calculate the cost of not taking a risk.
Yet it's just as real.
Risk Tolerance
We all have different thresholds for risk.
Think of your risk tolerance as a waterline. The line between the water and the air represents the point above which you're willing to take a risk.
That line isn't fixed.
A bad experience may raise it, making the next risk feel harder to take. A positive experience may lower it, making future risks feel more manageable—or even encouraging you to take bigger ones.
If my first skydive had gone badly, how likely would I have been to jump again?
The risk of skydiving wouldn't have changed.
My willingness to accept that risk probably would have.
Understanding that threshold matters because it helps us understand both ourselves and others. Someone else's tolerance for risk may look very different from our own, and even our own threshold shifts over time based on our experiences.
To understand why, we need to look more closely at what we call failure.
Managing Failure
One of the biggest risks we're really managing is failure: what happens if something goes wrong?
In skydiving, an obvious example is a parachute that doesn't fully deploy.
That risk has a low probability but high severity.
Parachute fails to fully deploy = Low Probability × High Severity
Mitigation
- A reserve parachute
- An automatic activation device (AAD) that deploys the reserve at a predetermined altitude
- Training to resolve parachute malfunctions or perform a cutaway if necessary
Notice what changes—and what doesn't.
The probability remains largely the same because preparation doesn't significantly reduce the likelihood of a malfunction.
The severity, however, decreases dramatically because you have backup systems and the knowledge to respond effectively.
Preparation doesn't eliminate risk.
It changes your relationship with it.
That's where theory became real for me.
For 27 jumps, everything went exactly as planned.
Then, on one jump, my parachute lines became twisted.
After a brief "Oh, shit" moment, I grabbed the risers, scissor-kicked my legs in the opposite direction of the twist, untangled the lines, and landed safely.
That single jump taught me more than the previous 27 combined.
I learned that I could handle it.
Failing Forward
I learned the same lesson outside of skydiving.
I still remember crying one afternoon after a manufacturing experiment failed.
My mentor walked over and asked what was wrong.
When I told him, he laughed.
I couldn't believe it—the audacity of him laughing.
Then he asked whether I'd learned anything I hadn't known before.
I immediately listed several things: one variable I hadn't considered because I thought it didn't matter, and another discovery I hadn't expected.
Then he asked a simple question.
Had I really failed?
If I kept repeating the exact same experiment without changing anything, then yes—that would be failure.
But if I changed the experiment based on what I'd learned, then it wasn't failure at all.
It was progress.
That's why the way we define failure shapes the way we approach risk.
To take more risks, we often need to redefine failure itself—not as defeat, but as learning faster, failing forward, or whatever mindset helps us keep moving.
A Little Help from Our Friends
Mindset isn't the only thing that helps us take risks.
Support matters too.
Whether someone is taking the leap alongside you or cheering from the sidelines, encouragement can have an outsized impact. It influences not only the risks we're willing to take but also how we navigate them and how we recover afterward.
My sister is one of the clearest examples of that support in my life.
She's one of my biggest champions—always encouraging me, pushing me, and believing in me when I struggle to believe in myself.
She gave me a sign that reads:
"If your dreams don't scare you, they're not big enough."
Whenever I begin to hesitate, I look at that sign and borrow a little of my sister's faith while I rebuild my own.
She may not understand every detail of the risk I'm taking.
But she understands me.
Sometimes, that's enough to tip the scale.
Jumping Knowingly
Risk will always involve uncertainty.
That's what makes it risk.
But when we understand the potential costs, recognize the cost of not trying, redefine failure as learning, and allow the right people to support us, risk becomes less about jumping blindly and more about jumping knowingly.
Sometimes, the risks that scare us the most are the very ones that teach us who we are, what we're capable of, and how far we're willing to grow.
