Playing it safe keeps me safe from every dream I have.

Safety isn't the enemy. Some seasons demand it — a mortgage, a sick parent, a year where the only sane goal is not making things worse.

The trouble is that safety has no natural end date. It never announces the day it quietly turned from wisdom into habit. There's a resignation letter sitting in someone's notes app, edited eleven times across fourteen months, never sent. Every edit felt like progress.

The test isn't whether you leap today. It's whether you can still name the thing you're protecting, and whether it's still there. If you can't name it, the risk you're avoiding may already be behind you.