The Hidden Cost of Playing Safe
Safety is Death Disguised as Discipline
Photo by David Underland from Pexels
Playing it safe feels rational. Predictable. Even responsible.
For now, it even feels free.
But over time, it will cost you everything.
It costs you lessons.
It costs you opportunities.
It costs you adventure.
You may avoid heartbreak.
But you’ll never know love that undoes you—
or remakes you beyond recognition.
You may avoid failure.
But you’ll be spared nothing but the bruises that prove you truly lived.
And without them, you will never know the healing of redemption.
Some wear the phrase “I never change” like honor.
But it isn’t honor.
It’s actually fear.
Fear window-dressed as conviction.
But this isn’t strength.
It’s stasis.
A padded cell with a ceiling.
A refusal to rise.
The cost is not just discomfort.
It’s your stalled becoming.
You know the price now.
So burn your accounting.
Break something.
Get closer to the fire.
Run headlong into the risk you’ve been avoiding.
Because the alternative isn’t safety. It’s stasis.
And the hidden cost of playing safe is nothing less than your life unlived.
‘The Vault’ Preview
This piece has a companion tool: The Audit: Safety Check.
It’s not a just workbook.
It’s a reflection tool, uncomfortable by design.
Normally these tools are available to paying subscribers of The Vault.
For this one, I’m releasing a preview.
The price of safety is often your soul’s silence.
Many play safe, not because it’s wise
but because the cost of being misunderstood feels unbearable.
But silence if rooted in fear is not peace.
True peace arises when we live in alignment,
not when we avoid risk.
Thank you for naming this hidden cost
it invites us to ask:
Is this safety… or quiet suffering?
Thanks for the reminder, friend. Well stated 👏. I had several gifted Jesuits in HS. They made it clear that watch, learn, listen, avoid, pick your verb etc were all important, but ‘do’ is the Yoda lesson in life. The rest is zero sum.