Why we risk differently

On our walk in a nature park today, we came upon two teenagers gingerly traversing a huge felled tree. The mother stood below, calmly watching them.

My honey, a China-born and raised Canadian, smiled and said, “A Chinese, or any Asian, mother would scream at them to get down.”

Having lived in Asia for over three decades, his observation rang true to me. Yet I answered that there didn’t seem a whole lot of risk in what the girls were doing. “Well, they could hurt themselves, puncture their skin or even an eye, if they fell,” he said. He was thinking of the worst-case scenario, as a mother might.

And that made me think of risk-taking and how we calculate risks and decide on action regularly based on our assessment and tolerance of the negative side of any risk. Those are both cultural and personal, as the research shows.

Life shrinks or expands in proportion to one’s courage to take risks.

Anaïs Nin

What does the research on risk assessment say?

The role of culture and society is not minor. The way we see risk isn’t universal—it’s deeply shaped by where we come from and the communities we belong to. Our cultural background matters: people who grew up valuing individual success, collective well-being, or respect for authority, will naturally consider or worry about different things.

Beyond that, the people around us significantly influence how we judge danger. We tend to pick up risk attitudes from our parents, friends, and social groups, and we pay attention to what they consider threatening. Then there’s the media effect—dramatic but rare events (like plane crashes) get blown out of proportion in news coverage, while common risks (like car accidents) fade into the background. As a result, what we collectively fear or see as risky often has more to do with cultural narratives than with what’s actually statistically dangerous.

Life is full of risks, and you don’t want to raise someone who’s afraid of taking risks, either physically or emotionally.

Dana Reeve

Then there are the individual factors in risk assessment. When we’re deciding whether to do something that involves a risk, we’re actually juggling several things at once: how we feel about what might go wrong, how much power we think we have in the situation, whether we’ve encountered this risk before, and even our personality (whether we naturally seek thrills or prefer playing it safe).

Our personal history shapes this, too. If something bad happened to you recently, you’ll probably overestimate how risky it is now, even if it was a fluke. On the flip side, if you’ve done something safely many times, you might stop being as careful because it’s become routine.

Here’s the interesting part: how much control we think we have often matters more than the actual danger. People routinely downplay risks they feel they can manage while becoming overly anxious about things that feel out of their hands.

We recognize entrepreneurs take risks (I’ve taken my share). So do soldiers, stunt performers, extreme athletes (daredevils!), investors, explorers, artists, and scientists.  Even politicians when they take a controversial stand.

Again, each of these groups accepts risk differently based on what they think they control. Entrepreneurs might feel they can influence success through smarts and hard work; while stuntmen accept physical risk because they’ve trained extensively to minimize it.

Death frames the high wire. But I don’t see myself as taking risks. I do all of the preparations that a non-death seeker would do.

Philippe Petit

How risk plays out for me

As a child, I was raised to be independent, and I was considered a tomboy—a term not favoured today for good reason (I, too, prefer a world without gender stereotypes). But you know what I mean: I was active in play and in sports, and I regularly took risks others wouldn’t dare.

Many of the decisions I made on my cancer treatment journey involved assessing risk. Being raised to be self-assured, with critical thinking and research skills honed by education, I approached each choice by reading medical research papers—which gave me a strong sense of control over my own journey. A few of the instances I’ve written about: when I insisted on taking tamoxifen as hormonal therapy over an aromatase inhibitor; when I opted to end the expensive herceptin treatments; and when I declined to have a biopsy to determine the mystery of the atypical mass in my eye. As far as I can tell now, four years later, those were all decisions with positive outcomes.

But that’s not how it always goes. Taking a risk means I might lose.

The universe has been trying to nudge me to go get vaccinated against shingles. A friend recommended it. My family doctor offered the option. I’ve even been getting ads for the vaccine in my Facebook feed. But did I listen? No. I didn’t even take the time to really research it.

A lifetime of being healthy as a horse, as the saying goes, has made me a bit heedless when it comes to ordinary health risks. I got the covid booster shot, but I didn’t get the flu shot or the shingles shot.

I believed my risk of getting either the flu or shingles was low. I normally don’t even get winter colds. On top of that, even in the event of a worst-case scenario, I saw myself recovering fast.

This was the opposite of how I’d approached my cancer decisions. Instead of diving into medical literature, I relied on habituation—the very bias the research describes. I’d been healthy most of my life, so I assumed I’d stay that way. My risk assessment was simple: even if I got shingles, it wouldn’t be life-threatening, and I’d recover.

Well, I now have shingles. Do I regret avoiding the vaccine? Only in the most light-hearted way. I made my choice; I took the risk. I let go of the outcome. Even when I didn’t do my homework, I still accepted the possible consequence of my decision. That’s not the same as wanting it—it’s simply refusing to live in fear of it.

And here’s the thing—that letting go is what allowed me to stay calm when I recognized the rash for what it was. I wasn’t wracked with self-recrimination or denial. After a sh*t happens moment, I simply accepted the situation and moved forward, got treatment, and trusted myself to handle it. That’s the freedom that comes with genuine acceptance: not pretending bad things won’t happen, but being ready if they do.

I’m sure I’ll be fine. The rash is a bit of a pain, but I was fortunate to identify the virus early and was able to get a prescription immediately for acyclovir. It’s working.

Final thoughts

We rarely think of the risks we take every day. There’s no way to exist without exposure to some level of danger, no matter how risk-averse we are.

Even the safest choices carry risks. Staying home to avoid accidents means missing opportunities and potentially experiencing social isolation (which has documented health risks). Never trying anything new may protect you from failure, but also from growth and fulfillment. We cross the street without a second thought.

The real skill, then, isn’t avoiding risk entirely—it’s managing it wisely. This means understanding what you can actually control (eg, do the research); being aware of your cultural and social biases; and learning from experience (without letting one bad incident trauma-lock you).

People who live fulfilling lives aren’t the ones who’ve eliminated risk—they’re the ones who’ve become comfortable with calculated risk. They understand which risks are worth taking for meaningful goals and which ones to avoid.

I believe that the most important single thing, beyond discipline and creativity, is daring to dare.

Maya Angelou

The goal isn’t a risk-free life (impossible), but rather developing the judgment to distinguish between risks that matter and those that don’t. And accepting the outcome, whatever that may be.

Because by being ready to accept a failed outcome, you’re no longer operating from fear or denial. You’re operating from choice. That’s where real agency lies.

Do you consider yourself a brave or timid risk-taker? Where do your risk calculations come from—culture, personality, or something else?

It is Lunar New Year’s Eve as I post this. The Fire Horse promises to be a year of bold momentum, rapid change, and passionate action that rewards courage but punishes hesitation. Are you ready?