But that is not what it’s built for

Let’s say I’ve got this really great sailboat. It’s downright sleek with all the latest gadgets. The sails are white and crisp; the wood has been rubbed lovingly until it gleams in the sunlight.

And it sits safely in the harbor.

I have a confession- I’m scared to set sail. I don’t like putting myself in situations where I don’t know what I’m doing. I want to be comfortable.

I like to be the teacher, not the student.

It would be so easy just to sit here looking out at the open water and dream about far off adventures. In my imagination, I’m skimming across pristine waters, throwing my head back and laughing at Dolphins, maybe even swashbuckling stuff.

I’m nervous. These waters are strange and mysterious and shark-filled. There are pirates roaming, looking for newbies like me to make a meal out of.

But I want to attempt something that matters, something epic. Epically, epic.

Epic requires me to lift anchor, adjust the sails, let the breeze lift them, and go. Just go.

Epic doesn’t happen in the harbor.

Sitting on the deck munching some cheese and crackers is safer. What if I head out and a storm comes up? I should just stay here. This is predictable.

Okay, this is boring.

But boring is known. It’s understood. I don’t have to struggle with the rigging or try to figure out the radar, or even ask others to help me. That would be embarrassing. Nobody will know I’m inexperienced if I stay right here.

I look better here in the harbor.

But this boat was made for more. I was made for more. You were made for more.

What am I missing by staying here at the shore? Epic adventures and thrilling experiences.

Growth is out there in the deep.

What will it cost me to lift anchor and shove off? And am I willing to pay it?

“To reach a port we must set sail –

Sail, not tie at anchor

Sail, not drift.” — Franklin D. Roosevelt