Dare Greatly, Create Dangerously, and Skip Wildly

Like most people who write, I imagine, thoughts and ideas often occur to me that I believe will make a good article, chapter, blog. Sometimes it is just a title that presents itself. For some time now I have wanted to incorporate a couple of ideas that I love into one article. The phrase “daring greatly” comes from a famous speech given by Teddy Roosevelt. Daring Greatly is also a recent book by Brené Brown who writes and speaks about vulnerability. If you have not seen her TED talk on this subject, take some time to watch it. It is one of the best 15 minutes you will spend this week. Brown writes: 

Vulnerability is not weakness, and the uncertainty, risk, and emotional exposure we face every day are not optional. Our only choice is a question of engagement. Our willingness to own and engage with our vulnerability determines the depth of our courage and the clarity of our purpose; the level to which we protect ourselves from being vulnerable is a measure of our fear and disconnection… Rather than sitting on the sidelines and hurling judgment and advice, we must dare to show up and let ourselves be seen. This is vulnerability. This is daring greatly. (2012, p. 2)

Create Dangerously is the title of a lecture by the great existentialist philosopher Albert Camus. I first came across this concept in the book Servant Leadership by Robert Greenleaf. Greenleaf called Camus a prophet “because of his unrelenting demand that each of us confront the exacting terms of his our own existence, and like Sisyphus, accept our rock and find our happiness in dealing with it” (p. 2002, p. 25). In his lecture, Camus wrote:

One may long, as I do, for a gentler flame, a respite, a pause for musing. But perhaps there is no other peace for the artist than what he finds in the heat of combat. “Every wall is a door,” Emerson correctly said. Let us not look for the door, and the way out, anywhere but in the wall against which we are living. Instead, let us seek the respite where it is—in the very thick of the battle. For in my opinion, and this is where I shall close, it is there.

Greenleaf goes on to comment:

One is asked, then, to accept the human condition, its sufferings and its joys, and to work with its imperfections as the foundation upon which the individual will build wholeness through adventurous creative achievement. For the person with creative potential there is no wholeness except in using it. And, as Camus explained, the going is rough and the respite is brief. (2002, p. 26)

Can you see the connection between daring greatly and creating dangerously? However somehow I thought the article would be better, and the title would sound better as well, with the addition of a third element. Dare Greatly, Create Dangerously, and, well, what? For weeks I have been on the lookout for that elusive third element.

Over the past few months I have been part of a small group of men, four of us to be precise, who have gotten together once a week to discuss a book that has been particularly seminal for me in the past year or so, Falling Upward by Richard Rohr. Rohr, a Franciscan priest, has done an outstanding job at explaining the concept of the “two halves of life” in an enlightening and ecumenical sort of way. Rohr’s writing has been key to my understanding of the “two halves of life,” the importance of cultivating eldership, and finally enabled me to see and structure the model of wisdom in leadership as it applies to the various stages of life.

At our last meeting, Ed Goode, who is the head pastor at the Presbyterian Church of Wyoming, and a member of our discussion group (see Ed's beautiful and inspired blog PsalmPhotos),  told a story that inspired me and my friend Bill. Before the 11:00 am service last Sunday, Ed’s 5 year old daughter was apparently skipping wildly through the church. Ed was approached by one of his older parishioners who counseled him to “never let her stop skipping.” She went on to tell Ed how she clearly remembers a day when she was 10 years of age. She began to skip and then thought better of it. She recalled thinking that she was getting too old to skip, and then recounted with some obvious sadness that she never skipped again. Taken out of context, her admonishment to Ed never to let his daughter stop skipping might seem trite or nostalgic, the rantings of an old woman approaching the end of her days. But in the context of an elder in the second half looking back on what is actually important in life, the comment made Ed pay attention and want to share it with us.

The story and its implications hung over us like dead weight for a silent uncomfortable moment. We all knew what was next. Bill admitted that he didn’t know if he even remembered how to skip. I, a rumored puer aeternus (just ask my ex…) have skipped on occasion (Hey! It’s a blast!!). Bill looked at me with a sheepish grin, probably guessing I was a closet skipper, and said, “I’ll do it if you do it…” I don’t know if he expected me to reject his proposal, but I couldn’t. If I were Barney Stinson I would have said, “challenge accepted!” And off we sauntered (not yet skipping) to the parking lot.

Outside it was a beautiful spring morning, cool, the sun shining brightly, flowers and buds just starting to appear. Bill looked at me and said again, “I don’t remember how to skip.” It didn’t take long, though. Within a half a step, Bill and I were skipping, bounding together through the air, prancing through the parking lot on the way to the street! I have known Bill for at least 15 years and I don’t think I have ever seen him smile like he was smiling while we were skipping. Skipping is just pure unadulterated fun — the closest most of us get to suspension in mid-air, I suppose. People saw us and they smiled. We waved. The funny thing is that I don’t think either of us felt particularly self conscious. It looked silly, that I can assure you (and you can see for yourself by following us on FaceBook). But what I realized in mid-skip was by daring greatly (read, being vulnerable) and creating dangerously, by skipping in public, we understood the real wisdom of what Ed’s parishioner meant. Being vulnerable enough to create dangerously gives us the wisdom to lead, either directly or through example, through the joy and expression of who we are. “Leadership” that quashes that impulse is not leadership. True leadership will always encourage authenticity, the giving of one’s gifts, daring greatly, and creating dangerously. So skip wildly through the streets and halls and let me know what you think.