An old friend of mine used to say: “If you’re not living life on the edge, you’re taking up too much room!”
The edge is a fine line to walk, but that is what makes it an exciting place. The view is grand, and the potential fall is steep. People clamor over and cling to space in the middle where there is less danger and more stability. Ironically, the result is that life on the edge is more spacious—because there are less people willing to live there, and also because one has the freedom and space to go out on a limb.
Living on the edge, however, one quickly makes acquaintance with the precipice. Failure, death, loss—these things one learns to recognize as constant companions. Of course, these things are constant companions for everyone, regardless of where they live their lives...but those who live on the edge stand toe-to-toe with such things day in and day out. Proximity makes them impossible to ignore, and yet familiarity with failure, death, and loss does much to do away with the fear of them. In familiarity and standing toe-to-toe with them, they are recognized as having always been there, as things that must be lived alongside, as things that one cannot hide from. On the edge, fear turns to respect and these things go from out-of-sight and out-of-mind to being one’s neighbors that wave “Hello!” each morning.
Being neighbors, these possibilities are daily encounters and as such one becomes more comfortable with them. To be comfortable with danger opens up whole new worlds of possibilities; while those living life in the middle are unlikely to ever happen out-of-bounds, they are likewise almost guaranteed to never reach uncharted territory.
Indeed, going into uncharted territory requires one to first arrive on the edge. One can then go out on a limb, dip one’s toes in, or make a leap of faith into the unknown...but he must stand at the edge of what is mapped before he can do any of those things.