Indictment. It is what we guard against most often when we shrink back from the prospect of failure. There is something behind those imposing wooden doors marked “Risk”. Once opened, we expect to find a stern-faced jury of our peers exacting a verdict on who we are and where we’ve fallen short. The sentence, we believe, includes time in the stocks and a scarlet letter or cardboard sign affixed to our person.  Labels such as “Inadequate”, “Incompetent”, “Naïve”, “Impulsive”, or “Careless” will be scribbled or sewn as a makeshift billboard, announcing the assessment of those who chose to play it safe.

We spend an inordinate portion of our life attempting to avoid this day in court. Our energy is often focused on side-steppi...