Some weeks ago, I made a few mistakes and almost killed my friend. To contemplate and make myself feel better, I did what any millennial would do: I blogged about the experience. My self-medication worked better than expected. As I was enjoying my social media triggered dopamine high, a friend of mine called and rudely interrupted my vainglorious bliss.
He wanted to know what my next move was: "What are your conclusions? And how are you going to implement them in your decision making?"
Clearly, he hadn't understood my point, he probably didn't even read my post. Walking the walk is the hard part. I don't like doing the hard stuff. I like sitting on my couch, scroll through Facebook, count the likes I'm receiving, and occasionally watch a cat video. My business is pointing out logical fallacies in meme's, asking pointy questions, and confuse people with sarcastic jokes. I'm not a solution kind of guy, I'm the kind of guy who just talks a lot.
However, almost killing your friend motivates even a couch potato to produce some kind of explication. I wish I could've come up with a transformational conclusion. But it would be naive for me to think that I could make more than a tiny little dent in the everlasting discussion regarding risk-taking.
When it comes to canopy traffic, I could get into details of what all skydivers and safety officers should think about. But there are already several very well written articles about the issue. We all know what is needed: logical and practical rules made by down to earth skydivers with lots of experience, and a supportive environment which makes it easier to maintain the discipline to follow the rules.
Unfortunately, it always comes down to "following-the-rules" and "making-smart-decisions." The reason why these apparent and straightforward behaviors are so difficult to follow consistently is the fact that they are not programmed into our monkey brain. We survived and remained sane on the savannah because our brain was able to deceive our scared little souls. Our brain convinced us that the hyenas that ate all of our brothers would never catch us. Because we are special. It will never happen to us. Everyone else, perhaps, but not us. We are programmed to have an optimism bias in order to be able to function and survive.
By listening to others over the years, two principles have stuck with me. Occasionally I'm able to use them when I fight my huge and brilliant brain. These principles do not always win the battles, but I always tell my wife they will win the war and therefore keep me safe (r).
Before I make a decision, I need to be convinced that a 70% performance is adequate to keep me safe. If I feel that the margin of error requires more than 70%, then the risk is too high; I will take an Uber to the bar rather than riding uncle Fred's Bull. Indeed a good rule of thumb, the problem, however, is defining that 70%. It is easy to fall into the trap of letting the expected reward influence one's estimation. Every time we get away with it, our confidence grows, and we get more careless when we estimate that 70%.
Another good thing to consider before you do something brave and stupid is what the incident report would look like if something were to go wrong. Incident reports often reveal a typical pattern. Accidents rarely occur due to one big mistake, but rather a series of small blunders, insignificant on their own, but when they add up, something terrible eventually happens.
Sometimes it is good to pause before making a decision and ask yourself if the report will start with: the jumper was tired and hungover, clouds were coming in. It had started to get dark and cold, the Swedish female beach volleyball team had already left the landing area. Often when you read an incident report, it screams out warnings that are easy for a reader to hear. But the main character in the story keeps neglecting them before making his final decision.
Pondering about these two rules have helped me to make choices that I have later been proud of. Sure, sometimes, my optimism bias brain outplays me, but not always.
In my previous post, I said that talking the talk is not enough when it comes to owning up to one's mistakes. This is true, but it is nevertheless important. It is a way to share experiences and learn more about what the actual risks are. Whether the subject is crossing a busy road, or flying a canopy, or having to deal with Trevor, it educates us and those around us to make more informed decisions, which is the only way for us to avoid unnecessary risks. We need to find tools to mute our brain's overconfident chatter and give ourselves more time to get scared.
The more we talk about incidents and risks, the more inclined we are to listen to that white angel on our left shoulder. She is desperately trying to convince us that doing a backflip with a twist from a couch while holding a beer in our hand is not a good idea. The more aware we are about the risks, the easier it is to say no to that crack snorting, meth drinking devil of a brain who tries to lure us in by promising us a tremendous reward.
We can create systems, rules, and regulations; we can make promises and manifestations, which might affect us when we are in the situation of making a decision concerning risk. But some of us are hopeless. Some of us will let their brains fool them into believing that they have thought the risks through. That they understand and accept them. They don't.
We do not understand the risks; however much we try to convince ourselves and the people around us that we do. When we get badly hurt, we might get a partial and temporary epiphany as we lie on the stretcher. But we only truly understand the risks during that fraction of a second when our brain realizes that it was wrong and the hyenas are about to eat us.
What makes these decisions even more difficult are the social bonds that risk-taking gives us. In the end, we will not remember how well we walked that narrow line of rules and regulations decorated with smart decisions. We will remember the times when we held hands and looked into the abyss of adventures and danger. We will remember that tickling sensation of excitement when we, together with a friend, made the decision and said: F**k it! Let's do it!
Nevertheless, in retrospect, I cannot think of a single thing I have done in my life that would have been worth dying for. No Beer, Bond, or Blonde beats the glorious feeling of being alive and being able to walk with your own legs as you giggle to cat videos. I call this my Tripple-B rule. Maybe something we should consider?
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