The Irony of Safety

Last week I told the story of losing my class ring while Jesse lifted a truck high enough for me to change a tire. I know—it sounds crazy, like I was working with superheroes, but it happened.

Set aside Jesse’s super strength for a moment. Losing the ring shook me. It was more than jewelry. It was a symbol of belonging and identity.

And yet, sometimes we have to lose what we think we need in order to discover what really matters.

In the junkyard, rings are dangerous. They catch on tools, snag on machinery, and can rip a finger apart in a heartbeat. Anyone who works around heavy equipment knows: take the ring off before you get to work.

Which makes my story even more ironic. That summer, I thought losing my class ring on the side of the road was a teenage tragedy. But it may have been the safest thing that could have happened.

That high school ring represented everything a sixteen-year-old values—status, belonging, identity. It was shiny, polished, expensive. In my mind, it was a marker of who I was becoming.

It could also have ripped my finger off.

That’s the irony in life. We often cling to “rings” because they feel safe. And yet the very things we grip for safety are the ones most likely to snag us. Comfort. Reputation. Security. Those are the dangers we don’t see coming.

Losing my ring didn’t just (possibly) save my finger. It taught me that what we clutch for safety can actually be the greatest risk.

The ring was a symbol. The junkyard was substance. One glittered with polish. The other reeked of oil and sweat. But only one gave me the grit I would need later in life—when the shine wore off and the symbols didn’t matter.

Sometimes the very thing you think proves who you are is the thing that keeps you from becoming who you’re supposed to be.

This is where parenting—and leadership—comes in. Kids don’t learn from what we say; they learn from what we hold onto.

A friend of mine recently earned a huge financial windfall. One of his first questions was how to explain it to his kids. My advice: “Well, don’t buy a Ferrari. Not even a used one. Maybe a rebuilt one from the junkyard, but even then … probably not.”

He laughed, but he also understood. Our kids watch what we value, and they absorb it as their own.

If we clutch our own “rings”—status, wealth, control—they will too. If we loosen our grip and live with resilience, generosity, and courage, they’ll see that as well.

The challenge isn’t just to tell our kids to live differently. The challenge is to model it ourselves. Another challenge, of course, is to let them be different from us and not expect them to conform. It’s a juggling act.

The contrast is sharp: in the junkyard, losing a ring (or at least taking it off) might save your hand. It’s the safe thing to do. Whereas in life, letting go of our rings might save our hearts. But it rarely feels like the safe thing to do.

If we want the next generation to grow into generous, courageous people, we need to start by living that way ourselves.

Sometimes the safest thing we can do is stop clutching what feels safe—and show our kids what really matters.

PS Speaking of rebuilt Ferraris, ever hear the story of my parents junkyard Rolls Royce with the small block Chevy engine? It’s in my book Salvaged.