No Risk, No Story

My wife and I decided to try the new Cozy Corner for breakfast, a place that had recently opened nearby. We settled into a booth, the kind with just the right amount of cushioning—enough to be comfortable but still encouraging you to sit up straight and enjoy your meal. The scent of fresh coffee and sizzling bacon filled the air. It felt like the kind of place that could become a regular spot the Greenland Sharks Friday Breakfasts.

Our server, a young man named Hugo, greeted us with a warm smile. He had an ease about him, moving quickly but never seeming rushed. As he poured our coffee, I noticed a tattoo on his forearm that read: No Risk, No Story. It was the kind of phrase that made me curious.

When he came back, I asked, “So, do you have an interesting story?”

His face lit up. “Yes, I do.”

Hugo told us he was from Venezuela. During COVID, despite his father’s disapproval, he made the difficult decision to come to America legally to find work and build a better future. He didn’t make the journey alone—his wife and child came with him, making the leap even more daunting. His father, who owned a significant amount of land, believed Hugo had no reason to leave. He had a job, a way of life, and financial security waiting for him in Venezuela. But Hugo saw things differently. “It wasn’t easy,” he said, “but I knew I had to take the risk.”

His pride was evident. He wasn’t just telling a story—he was living it, shaping it with every decision he made.

Later in our meal, I mentioned that my son works in the restaurant industry and asked Hugo if he had any interest in working at a more elevated restaurant. He smiled, appreciative of the thought, but shook his head. “I actually won’t be here much longer,” he said. “In two weeks, I’m moving to Texas to start school. I’m going to be an architect.”

Wow. What a story.

As we finished our breakfast, I kept thinking about his tattoo. No Risk, No Story. It struck a nerve.

At 60, what risks am I still willing to take? What stories am I still writing? There was a time when I took more risks—some worked out, some didn’t, but they all became part of my story. Am I still pushing forward, still creating, still embracing the unknown?

What about you? What risks are you taking? What story do you want to tell?

Hugo reminded me that the best stories don’t happen by accident. They happen because someone steps forward, embraces uncertainty, and takes a leap. Maybe it’s time to take one more.