Leaning In Really Takes Courage

When Your Plan Ceases Being A Loony Idea

Choosing to Cuddle Up With The Craziness

Full disclaimer here, folks. This story was a lot harder to write than I thought it would be. I think the problem came when I realized my plan wasn’t anywhere near being a real plan.

After an in-depth review, which lasted a full ten seconds or so, my plan seems more like a set of suggested directions, much like, “See that house on the corner up yonder? Right, well hang a left there and follow that dirt road till ya get where you think ya need to be.”

I don’t reckon I need much of a road map for that, right?

So how did I go from dream to goal, to plan then back to dream? Or as I like to call it, choosing to cuddle up with my craziness? Easy. But instead of using me for an example, let’s use Orville and Wilber Wright.

Yeah, the Wright brothers.

I chose their example over Icarus ’cause the young man didn’t listen to Daedalus, his pretty wise old dad, when he warned the boy about flying too close to the sea or too near the sun.

The dude melted all the wax from his wings and took a tumble that killed him.

I believe Orville and Wilber, at one point, started with a dream. But I don’t think they had a real plan to get there. Both boys never received diplomas from high school and yet became opportunists of the highest caliber.

First, they started a printing business, having designed and built their own printing press. While the brothers achieved moderate success in the printing business, their attention soon turned to the bicycle craze, and in 1892, they opened up their own repair and sales shop — Wright Cycle Company.

Four years later, the gentlemen changed course again. Again, I’m pretty sure it wasn’t part of their initial plan. To this point, their overarching strategy was to make money doing things that interested them.

That’s it, the entirety of the plan. No sustainable, measurable, achievable, relatable, or timely goals. No statistics, no spreadsheets, or Gant charts.

They were just making money doing things that interested them.

One of their big interests was in air flight, and they used revenue from the Wright Cycle Company to fund this interest.

When their idol Otto Lilienthal perished during a glider flight, the young men doubled down on this passion for flying more safely. Shortly after Mr. Lilienthal’s death, the two began their own mechanical, aeronautical experiments with a dream to build a controllable flying machine.

From 1899 to 1903, Orville and Wilber tested gliders, prototypes, and different aspects of controlled flight. And by mid-December of 1903, they were ready.

At Kitty Hawk, North Carolina, December 17th, 1903, the brothers registered two of the first flights of a powered airplane to execute controlled and sustained flight.

I’m pretty sure most of you reading this know about the Wright brothers and Kitty Hawk and the Wright Flyer. For those of you who don’t, please feel free to use this piece as cliff notes if you’re tested — guaranteed to pull in a grade of a solid C.

Or maybe a D if your professor is pissed that day.

This morning, as I compared my original dreams of writing, first short stories, then novels, and now freelance and blogging, I realize my plan, then and now, has always been pretty much like Wilber and Orville.

Make a little coin, doing something that interests me.

And as I continue down this writing path of mine, I wonder how many times the Wright brothers felt as though they were absolute loons for thinking they could metaphorically get their dreams off the ground.

At some point, they surely questioned themselves, felt the hopelessness and despair as they stared at the remnants of the last glider they crashed, the previous flight attempt that went wrong.

But their plan was simple.

They wanted to fly. Not just become airborne, but to control the flight well enough to take off and land without injury. These brothers two learned to cuddle up with what a lot of people thought was sheer craziness at the time.

And they flew.

There have been so many times in history when someone’s plan ceases to be a looney idea. A time when the craziness becomes a product people eventually grow to depend on (I’m thinking a jumbo jet maybe?) or an altruistic wonder drug which positively affects the entire civilization.

Think Hilary Koprowski in 1950 and Jonas Salk, in 1955 — creators of the polio vaccines.

So although my plan to write isn’t peppered with goals and stats and thoughts of where I want to be in five years, it is useful. I’m writing with the intent to do something I absolutely love to do.

But it’s not easy. We all know the drill. Leaning into your dreams and aspirations really takes a lot of courage. But I think most writers, in fact, all writers, are probably the most courageous people I know.

Why? Because we keep writing, don’t we? We keep cuddling up with our craziness and leaning in on our writing, don’t we?

For me, although it may seem right now like nothing more than a loony idea, I’ve got a feeling if I keep at it, if I continue cuddling up with the craziness, I’m going to hit my stride.

This afternoon, I realized I’ve already reached the point where my plan has ceased being a loony idea and has become a reasonably predictable path toward my dreams.

So sisters and brothers. Whether you’re dreaming about flying high or you’re sitting on the wings of the vehicle your writing has built slipping tween the jetstreams, the plan is simple.

You’re a writer.

Write.

Thanks So Much For Reading

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