The Courage to Leap: Two Recent Stories

A friend of mine–an entrepreneur who pitched aeronautical engineering to become a philosophy grad student, pitched philosophy for medicine, and finally pitched medicine to make wine–says that when his kinds are worried about risking some new adventure or endeavor, he tells them, “Leap, and the net will appear.”
He’s certainly a poster child for the success of that approach. And there’s a lot to be said for just closing your eyes and making the leap. I say that in part because the actual leap, from known and comfortable to unknown and uncertain, is the hardest part of starting any new adventure or endeavor. And, of course, because once you’re off the cliff edge, you’re awfully motivated to figure out how to build a pair of wings before you hit the ground.
But there’s sometimes a fine line between bravery and recklessness. If you are a single parent with three kids depending on you for food, clothing, shelter and healthcare, perhaps abruptly up and quitting your day job to start over again as an actor–unless you have some other kind of income at your disposal-is a bit more reckless than brave.
Granted, that’s a bit of an extreme example. But the question it raises is real. If you’re thinking of trying a new path, job, or career, how do you decide when … and if … you should leap? It’s a tough question, because there’s no guaranteed right answer. That’s why those decisions and moves are called risky. Obviously, it helps to think possible options through ahead of time. Ask yourself, Do I have the skills and experience necessary to try this? Do I have any connections or possible clients/employers out there? Can I financially afford the risk? And, of course, the bottom line question at the end of the day … “What will I regret more? If I do this and fail, or if I don’t do this? Because in the end, nobody else can weigh out the potential risks and benefits for you. You can’t decide that a move is right. You have to decide if it’s right for you.
So I always find it interesting to talk to and read about people who’ve made those leaps, to see how they came to that choice. Take, for example, Tom Magliozzi, known to most people as half of the “Click and Clack” team of NPR’s “Car Talk.” Tom died two weeks ago, at the age of 77, from complications of Alzheimer’s disease. But in addition to the basic facts, the obituary I read included part of a commencement speech the brothers had given at their college alma mater, the Massachusetts Institute of Technology (or MIT), in 1999.
In the speech, Tom talked about how he’d gone from engineering to car maintenance, tracing the choice back to a “defining moment” he had on the way to work one morning. As the obituary put it, “Tom described driving on Route 128 to his job in Foxboro, Mass, in a little MG that ‘weighed about 50 pounds,’ when a semi-truck cut him off. Afterward, he thought about how pathetic it would have been if he had died having ‘spent all my life, that I can remember at least, going to this job, living a life of quiet desperation. So I pulled up into the parking lot, walked in to my boss’s office and quit on the spot.'”
The article went on to say that Tom’s little brother Ray chimed in at that point in the speech and quipped, “‘Most people would have bought a bigger car.'”
Most people would have bought a bigger car. But for some reason, that near-brush with death tilted the balance of risk and reward so conclusively in favor of making the leap that Tom Magliozzi quit his job on the spot and started a car repair shop. My guess is that Tom already knew his passion was working on cars, not working as a chemical engineer in some big corporation. The almost-accident just reminded him that he didn’t have forever, or 10 lives, to waste on a path that wasn’t fun or fulfilling. I’d also wager that the choice Tom thought he was making was not to give up engineering for a radio career, but giving up a career as a chemical engineer to be a car mechanic.
By the way, for anyone who’s curious, the brothers did not leap immediately to fame and fortune. When Tom quit his job, the brothers started a do-it-yourself car repair shop in Cambridge, MA that evolved into a conventional repair shop called the “Good News Garage.” But when a local NPR station interviewed the brothers one day, their banter and humor so impressed the producers that they were invited to appear on a national radio show to talk about cars … a segment that evolved, eventually, into “Car Talk,” which ran for 35 years (and which NPR is still airing by re-running taped shows). Note to all potential leapers: when Car Talk debuted, Tom Magliozzi was 40 years old.
A second “leap” story that crossed my desk this week still has an unfinished ending. Bob Herbert was a columnist at The New York Times for 18 years, and his column was syndicated and appeared in a number of other newspapers, as well. Now, for anyone not associated with the journalistic profession, let me tell you: being a syndicated columnist at The New York Times is a really big deal–financially, as well as in terms of career success.
In 2011, however, Herbert left his columnist position…apparently to pursue a bigger project, in more depth, than he could as a twice-weekly columnist. He spent much of the past three years traveling the country, gathering stories of middle-class Americans who had been left behind, in one way or another, as a result of changes in the the economic and policy landscape of the country. The book he wrote as a result of all those travels, Losing our Way: An Intimate Portrait of a Troubled America, came out last week.
Granted, I don’t know all the factors that led to Herbert’s departure from the Times. Perhaps there were unhappy management changes. Perhaps they were asking for changes in his work he didn’t want to make. Perhaps the “safe” road of sticking with his known career success wasn’t as safe as it looked. But his last column at the paper took issue with the same “troubled” America that his book research focused on, which tells me he knew what he was doing next.
There are thousands upon thousands of writers out there whose pinnacle of career success dream is to become a syndicated columnist for the Times. And yet, assuming that Herbert left of his own accord … he walked away from all that to become an independent writer, free to pursue the subjects he cares most about, with more depth than he had at the newspaper. Few would argue the upside of getting to pursue the work you want, at the pace you want. But there’s a huge amount of financial and career uncertainty that goes along with that. As I said, the story of Herbert’s leap doesn’t have a clear ending yet. The book–which sounds really interesting, but I haven’t read yet– might or might not be a success. His new path holds great possibilities of making a real difference, but also holds the possibility that his career and income will fizzle.
What makes a man make a choice like that? If I had access to Herbert, I’d ask him. From a distance, and from looking at what he wrote about while at the Times … I’d say that he believed that the subject of this book – a clarion call to a country he loves, but fears has lost its sense of collective and community responsibility, leading to a potential loss of the American dream of economic advancement for all but the very rich–was worth the risks and tradeoffs of the journey he would have to take to create it.
If that’s true, that’s not reckless. That’s brave. Will the net appear? Well, Herbert is already working on a documentary (perhaps related), and he’s working with at least one media foundation. So if the net doesn’t appear, it seems he’s at least working hard on building a set of wings on the way down. But something tells me that no matter where his career goes from here, he won’t have any regrets. I think working on something you feel is really, really important to you has that effect on people.
Something else worth remembering, from both of these stories: what appears like a reckless or risky leap to others can sometimes be, in the heart of the person doing it, simply moving on from a path they recognize has run its course, to a new chapter, challenge, or beginning.