by Tommy Baker
What I’ve found is the opposite. In spite of making bold choices in the past, they can feel just as stuck and in fear about their next leap. Often, those with something to lose are less likely to take a leap: taking a chance is easy when you don’t have much to lose, but what about when things are working (to a certain degree)?
In working with countless thought leaders, industry trailblazers, and entrepreneurs who have made bold decisions in the past, I’ve noticed they need a constant reminder to push toward their next leap. Otherwise, they slide back to mediocrity, the passion and challenge they once had fizzles, and what once felt like a riveting life has now vanished and become mechanical.
The Greatest Risk (Is Not Taking One)
Starting your own business is risky.
Moving cross-country with no plan is risky.
Asking him or her out before you’re ready is risky.
Taking a bold chance on your dreams is risky.
Right?
But what if we’re wrong? What if the real risk is putting our dreams on hold, placing them in a box labeled “someday”?
We’ve been told to play it safe, to stay in line, and to not dream too big, or else we may fail. Follow the secure path and you’ll be handsomely rewarded. Since those around you have also bought into this narrative, they’ll support you. You’ll fit in, and your life’s path will be etched in certainty.
And yet, so often we find ourselves on someone else’s path, living someone else’s dream and trying to live up to the expectations (and approval) of others. We trade in our calling for our ceiling, our purpose for a paycheck, and our enthusiasm for exhaustion.
You wake up one day, only to realize you’re in the wrong movie wondering how the hell you got there.
Our inability to tolerate even the smallest of risks has led us to live an unfulfilled life. The illusion of security has drained our life force. The calling you felt deep within you started as a wildfire and is now nothing but ashes. What was once a six-lane open highway of possibility has now become a cemetery where dreams go to die.
Reading this book will challenge you to have an open mind, no matter if you consider yourself a brazen risk taker with an entrepreneurial mindset, or your definition of risk is passing someone on the right-hand side of your local freeway at a brisk 66 MPH.
The problem with our perception of risk is simple: we don’t take chances during the low-stakes moments of life, so we’ll never take them during the high-stakes moments—which means that every single day we’re wiring ourselves not to listen to what we know we have to do, so we are unwilling to face the task(s) at hand.
And through that process, we miss facing ourselves.
“Someday” Is Holding You Back
I wrote this book because I have been where you are. I have been stuck and riddled by fear. I have walked the path others wanted for me. I have turned a blind eye to what I knew I had to do, and followed what people told me I should.
It nearly broke me.
Until I woke up one New Year’s Eve 13-degree night in New York City with tears streaming down my face, painting a vision for a life. For the first time, it felt real. With no plan, no blueprint, and no seven-step system, I took the leap.
Fast-forward to today, and my former life is completely and utterly unrecognizable. I am living every part of my vision, and then some. My obsession is now helping others identify their leap and make a bold decision. I’ve spent over 3,500 + hours in the trenches coaching and consulting others.
I’ve interviewed over 250 of the world’s most accomplished and fulfilled entrepreneurs, leaders, athletes, spiritual teachers, and creatives, and here’s the common thread I found among all of them:
They had the courage to listen to the voice inside and take a bold step into the unknown.
Without any guarantees, they bet on themselves. They put their chips in the middle of the poker table known as life, going all in.
And everything changed.
In crossing the threshold, they found themselves on the other side with conviction, courage, and a confidence that only comes through stepping into who we really are. We all want to give this experience meaning. We all want to live a purposeful life, engulfed with fulfillment. The way we get there is simple, yet never easy. We listen to the calling inside, knowing exactly what we need to do. We take the jagged, rough, edgy path instead of the perfectly trimmed one. We take the leap calling us, and we never look back. We know there is no guarantee on the other side, except the greatest one of all: knowing that we played full tilt, all out, and gave it a chance. We bet on ourselves. We not only had a belief there was something greater out there, but we also had the audacity to step into it.
We lived, dammit!
That’s why you’re here, and why I’m here. This book will challenge you, and if I do my job, it will force you to answer the tough questions you’ve been avoiding. It won’t be comfortable, because nothing in life that changes us is. I believe you and I have the right to turn this cosmic, blink-of-an eye experience into a canvas for the world to see. A story for generations to read. I want your life to be the greatest story ever told.
This book is broken down into four parts. Part I is where we examine the infinite cost of not taking your leap, and what’s really holding you back. Armed with a new perspective, you can prepare for your journey in Part II and learn about the essential toolbox you’ll need. Part III is about the leap and the different kinds of leaps available to you. Last, Part IV is about ensuring your leap isn’t something you do once but instead becomes who you are, while sharing your gifts. You’ll create a declaration you’ll be sharing to set you off to sail. Throughout, you’ll find essential leap tips in each chapter, as well as #NotesFromTheLeap: stories from everyday people just like you who radically transformed their lives.
You’re here, and you don’t know exactly where you’re going. Good. The unknown is waiting for you, and we’ve got no time to lose.
If you do it right, you will never be the same.
PART I
Leaning on the Edge
There are moments in our lives when we summon the courage to make choices that go against reason, against common sense and the wise counsel of people we trust. But we lean forward nonetheless because, despite all risks and rational argument, we believe that the path we are choosing is the right and best thing to do. We refuse to be bystanders, even if we do not know exactly where our actions will lead. This is the kind of passionate conviction that sparks romances, wins battles, and drives people to pursue dreams others wouldn’t dare. Belief in ourselves and in what is right catapults us over hurdles, and our lives unfold.
—Howard Schultz
CHAPTER 1
Daring to Dream
Rate: 833.9 miles per hour. When you’re freefalling at this speed, you’re only thinking about one thing—the desire to live.
The lead-up to this moment had been a lifetime of bold decisions and redefining risk at every turn. However, none of that mattered now. The radio was silent as the spin became more violent. This silence was deafening.
At 128,000 feet, everything is precarious. During an uncontrolled spin, there are only a few possible outcomes. One, blood rushes to the limbs and rids the brain of oxygen. A total blackout results. Unconsciously spinning in space. The alternative is too much blood rushing to the head—and then the pressure inside the skull builds like the pressure in a beer can that’s been left in the freezer for too long. Eventually your blood has only one way out—your eyeballs.
No good. When you’re spinning uncontrollably for 67 seconds, it feels like an eternity. Alone, every second is your life flashing right before your eyes.
Felix Baumgartner is still here to tell his story—and he regained control in time to accomplish one of the biggest feats in the history of human free fall.
Was it risky? It depends on who you ask.
The Dream of a Lifetime
Just 67 seconds earlier, Felix had been standing on the edge of a cust
om-made space capsule. Decked out in a handmade spacesuit adorned with the Red Bull logo, the whole world was watching—including his girlfriend, a mother who couldn’t bear to watch, and a close circle of friends, all waiting for him 24 miles down. He was about to embark on a lifelong dream—flying. Literally. Ever since he was a little boy, Felix had dreamed of flying. That dream had led to his being known as one of the most accomplished daredevils and stuntmen in history. But this was different.
The training had been the most grueling challenge of Felix’s life. Several mishaps, technical issues, a nearly fatal training mistake, and a total anxiety shutdown were part of the story. But something was pushing Felix to take this leap. Something within him was guiding him through the dark moments and the sleepless nights.
It would have been easy to rest on his laurels and the YouTube highlights of doing the impossible. He was already a living legend, with nothing to prove. Yet something was pulling at him, and he couldn’t afford not to listen.
That day at 12:06 p.m. Felix took the leap of his life with the entire world watching.
You Have a Quest to Take, Too
I know what you’re thinking: you have no plans to jump out of a space capsule and break the speed of sound anytime soon. You’re not a daredevil, BASE jumper, or extreme sport athlete. I’m not either, and I’ll stick to my two, run-of-the-mill skydiving experiences for now. They were fun, even if the pilot did look like a knockoff version of the guitarist from Metallica and made way too many “this is my first day” jokes.
However, you have a lot more in common with Felix than you think: there’s a quest you’ve been waiting to take. And every day that passes without you taking it is another chance you’ll wind up thinking about what could have been.
I don’t want that for you, but most importantly—you don’t want that for you. You’re here to take the quest, the ride of a lifetime. And your leap is the catalyst to light that quest on fire and write the life story you can’t wait to experience. The life you look forward to coming back to after a vacation, because the thrill of living it exceeds the fantasy of escaping.
This is exactly where I found myself on a frosty New Year’s Eve night when everything changed.
December 31, 2014—10:36 p.m. New York, New York
I’m sitting at a big table in a Manhattan restaurant, surrounded by friends and the sounds of clinking glasses and belly laughter. It’s New Year’s Eve and the energy is palpable, with busboys gunning in and out at exactly the right time so as not to knock into the waitress who’s taking one too many orders.
I’m seated at the table, but I’m not there. Something is missing. I’ve felt this way for a little while now, and I don’t know what to do. It’s easy to admit you’re lost when things aren’t working. But what about when people think they are? I’ve had trouble waking up over the past 14 days. For the first time since high school, all I want to do is stay in bed when morning comes around.
The drinks start coming, and I’m on the hook for a ribeye. Bone-in, flown in from Nebraska—or so they say—for a cool $57. I excuse myself, although I’m not sure that any words come out of my mouth.
I find myself walking. It’s 13 degrees out, and I’m supposed to be in the bathroom and rejoining the dinner table soon. Except that I’m headed in the opposite direction. I feel the burn of the cold on my face and the windchill in my bones. I don’t know where I’m going, yet I know exactly where I’m going. I need space. I need to find myself.
Desperately.
I walk until I find an open patch of land—something that looks like an old football field—and instantly I’m drawn to it. Maybe I simply want to relive the glory days that didn’t happen, but I walk into the field. And without thinking, I’m now sprinting for my life with everything I’ve got—Michael Kors pants and shirt included. I repeat the cycle of walking and sprinting a few times, not thinking about who may be witnessing this: it is New York, after all.
Once I’ve expended every ounce of energy, I take a seat. And that’s when I lose it—the flood of tears come rushing out of me. I can’t stop. I feel alone. I feel tired. I feel disconnected. The tools I’ve used for so long no longer work. And for the first time, I get honest with myself. I hate where I live. I hate the people. I hate the energy. I hate the attitude.
I need to get out.
Without thinking, I pull out my iPhone and hit the big red button. The recording starts. For the next four and a half minutes, I let it flow. I’m detailing where I’m going to be in one year. And for the first time, I can see and feel it. It’s real. And it’s time.
I lay out what’s deep inside on the recorder, frame by frame. As the words roll off the tip of my tongue, I’m impressed by how good they sound. They feel right. I’m making grand plans to change where I live, start a new business, meet the partner of my dreams, and rediscover the passion that I used to experience daily. I’m outlining my quest in a tantalizing, 4K-resolution picture.
Except there’s a problem. Not just any problem: there’s a Fort Knox–sized obstacle in the way. I recently signed my name to a five-year lease. Quick math says I’m on the hook for $422,000. Oh yeah, forgot about that. I’ve got 11 employees. I’ve got a bricks-and-mortar business. My family is here. Everything I’ve known and created for the last decade is here. I have no blueprint. I have no prospects. I have no plan.
And yet, I believe. Somehow, someway, it’s going to happen. It has to, right?
The Edge Is Your Invitation
What I experienced that night was the edge. The edge is the place where the hair on the back of your neck stands up. In a split second, you’ve achieved a level of clarity unlike any other. You know exactly what you must do. There are no excuses, and there’s no space for anything except unapologetic belief. The edge engulfs every part of who you are.
And then it’s gone. Only a few moments later, what was once clarity is now confusion. What was an uplifting life force is now a prison cell. What felt limitless now feels risky. What once felt possible is now a fantasy.
What is your edge? Own it and reap the rewards—or watch it disappear. Inspiration is quickly replaced by worst-case scenarios. Possibility is traded for avoiding the unknown. Belief is swapped for the reason you can’t do it. Potential is transformed into “being realistic.” A moment of radical insight is shoved into a convenient box labeled “someday.”
The edge is your invitation. It’s the launchpad for your quest. This is the moment. Often we hear of life’s most defining moments. These usually tend to be big life events society has laid out for us: school, college, marriage, career, the birth of a child, a big accomplishment, and so on.
I’d argue that there is no such thing as a defining moment, because if right now is the only moment, then naturally it is the most defining. What I’m really saying here is simple: everything counts.
Especially when you’re at your edge.
The Edge Is Daunting, Yet Beautiful
The edge is daunting. You’re exposed. You’re on the hook, and there’s a decision to be made. There’s no space to think it through: you do it or you don’t.
The edge becomes a bookmark in our lives. The place where we either take one more step into the unknown, betting on ourselves, or run back to safety. It’s the place where your heart and head are battling it out in a winner-take-all tug-of-war.
Too many times you’ve let your head win. The head loves to win. It thrives off keeping you comfortable, safe, and stuck. It’d much rather you live a complacent, soul-sucking, safe life than one full of riveting passion created through stepping into the unknown.
Even if that unknown includes a jaw-dropping future or provides you with an opportunity that brings you to your knees (in a great way). The edge is uncomfortable because there are no guarantees on the other side—except the greatest guarantees we could ever have, including:
You won’t look back with regret. Regret is heavy. We’ve all been there. It eats away at our spirit and makes us long for what could
have been. When you lean into your edge, you’ll be able to look back and know you went all in when it counted. This alone provides the inner peace we’re so often seeking.
You’ll experience wonder and awe. The edge is your threshold, and on the other side is wonder and awe. It’s the life force we’ve always had, designed light up our imagination. In contrast, what’s known is boring and zaps our curiosity.
You’ll give your life meaning. We’re not here for happiness: we’re here to have meaningful lives. Lives that matter and are significant. Most importantly—it matters to us. Stepping into your edge is how you get there.
You’ll have the adventure of a lifetime. Adventure makes us feel alive—and your edge is the ultimate adventure. There’s nothing else like it, because you’re writing a story about an adventure that most people will only experience through examining the lives of others.
You’ll feel immense self-reliance and trust. Self-reliance, as defined by Ralph Waldo Emerson, is the trust we place in ourselves. By leaning into your edge you begin to be able to trust yourself in a world where we’ve been conditioned to trust others.
You’ll be able to tell a riveting story. We all want our life stories to be worth telling and worth being remembered for. It’s our legacy—what we did during our short time here.
How to Know That You’re at Your Edge
Standing at your edge is much like looking out to a distant horizon that separates the world you’ve known from the world waiting for you. You can feel it, and this time it’s different. It’s unlike anything you’ve experienced before.
