Empty Storm Clouds

Last night, my wife and I were sitting on our back patio, enjoying a “patio beer,” when seemingly out of nowhere, the temperature dropped a few degrees, the wind picked up, and moments later, we scrambled to batten down the hatches and get our asses indoors.

This one felt like a doozy. Cushions were blown askew from our patio couch. We worried about our son’s car parked out front, fearing it was about to get drilled by baseball-sized hail. We checked our weather apps, which only seemed to affirm our concerns. The rain began as the winds whipped more ferociously. My wife bet me $100 that our power would go out, which seems to be a pretty safe bet on her part, given our location and the frequency of power outages.

And then it was over, just like that.

The winds calmed. The sun peeked out from the clouds, and everything returned to normal.

It’s just another occurrence of empty storm clouds.

It struck me this morning that I worry far too often about empty storm clouds.

Empty storm clouds represent all the times I worry about the what-ifs that too often are never realized.

Just this morning, I found myself in one of those quandaries. I’ve been trying to build out an online sales funnel for my primary business. For months, I’ve battled the technical aspects of creating this platform, realizing after hours of wasted time that building websites is not my forte. I’m having trouble even getting the subscription settings to work on this blog. I needed help.

So I reached out to a couple of professionals, interviewed them, accepted their feedback and recommendations… and then received their proposals. The initial investment was reasonable, but in the long term, it added up to a sum far greater than I had anticipated or planned to spend.

The sweet siren song of scarcity danced in my ears. I became stuck. I was stuck between building what I envisioned effectively and professionally by leveraging the knowledge and skills of others or continuing to labor under my constraints of frugality, leading to more headaches and inefficiencies.

I know this is not my strength or purpose, and investing in myself would yield eventual revenues that far exceed the relatively minor expense; yet, the potential for failure imposes itself on that possible progress.

What if it doesn’t convert? What if it’s not just wasted time, but also wasted money? What if I fail to realize the potential? What if….

Those fucking what if’s. Where is the line between practicality and self-belief? When does it stop being prudent to consider all pros and cons and becomes time to act?

When are the storm clouds we perceive on the horizon merely empty storm clouds like those that rolled over our back patio last night?

I don’t know the answer, which probably makes this entire article premature. But nonetheless, it feels like a question worth asking. When do we hush the persistent whispers of worst case and simply move forward with hope and faith into the possibility? How will we ever know if we never try.

There’s something that happens to too many of us as we age. With the wisdom of age, we become more cautious. This is probably a natural evolution, learning from heartbreaks and stubbed toes that sometimes things don’t work out perfectly, so we throttle down our tolerance for risk. We play small. We live cautiously. We trade what if for stability, safety, and security.

I recognize that prudence can be an important value, but I also recognize that forging ahead can create possibilities that we otherwise will never experience. Sometimes, being fearless serves us.

So I will simply conclude with a question. Where are you running from empty storm clouds? Where are you allowing the remote possibility of being struck by lightening to keep you from dancing in the rain?

Live boldly, friends. Live on the exciting side of what if….