Extreme risk-takers have been in the news recently from billionaires in SpaceX shuttles and OceanGate submersibles to climbers free soloing in national parks. You might think that risk-taking is only for the very rich, or for white people, but that isn’t quite the whole story. Every culture seems to have their own version from cliff diving (lele kawa) to free divers in fishing villages to well jumping. Even bungee jumping originated centuries ago with Indigenous people on Vanuatu and parachuting began 4,000 years ago in China. So why is risk-taking viewed as a white people thing? And why do humans take unnecessary risks?

First things first…

First of all, a quick disclaimer. We’re going to examine risk-taking through the lens of race and class, because those perspectives paint a more complete picture. Also, for the record, we don’t dislike billionaires because they take unnecessary risks, we dislike them because the money they spend on risk-taking could lift entire communities out of poverty. 

It’s also true that the stories that take up the most space in the media tend to be about white men with big sponsors and bigger budgets taking unnecessary risks. It creates the false narrative that only white people enjoy risking life and limb for ‘no good reason’. 

Which made me curious. Who decides which types of risk are acceptable and which aren’t? Which represent humankind’s playfulness and imagination and which don’t? Are people right to judge risk-taking that they don’t understand or approve of? 

I spoke to two adventure athletes to find out why people take unneccessary risks in the first place.

1. Risk-taking helps us build confidence

When I was a child, risky play didn’t come naturally. I had to be coaxed into becoming the last six year old in the neighborhood to ditch training wheels. I spent lots of time playing outside but I wasn’t engaged in the type of rough-and-tumble play that experimented, pushed boundaries or allowed kids to test their limits. “If kids don’t go far enough with their play, it’s boring and if they go too far, it gets too scary,” theorized Vancouver researcher Mariana Brussoni in The Power of Play (2019). Speak for yourself Brussoni—I liked boring play.

But many kids do use risky play to “figure out…how the world works, how their body works,” Brussoni added. It’s also a way to build confidence, resilience and gain skills that will ultimately lead to greater independence. But risky play is risky business. Narrowly defined, it carries a greater risk of physical injury than other types of play.

So how does this apply to adults? No, I don’t know too many adults who climb trees these days but we can still gain self-confidence and feel empowered by playing outdoors and taking risks that may lead to physical injury. Maybe it’s time for your first drop-in at the skatepark; your first whale-tail at the local single track; or your first solo hike. Hell, you might even feel the urge to sign up for a centurion or ultramarathon. Risk is all about perception and we all perceive risk differently. 

Wait, hold up. That definition doesn’t include everyone. Not everyone can afford to take voluntary risks that might lead to a broken bone or expensive surgery. Not everyone has healthcare. And not everyone has access to the super expensive sports you just name-dropped. This really is white people stuff. 

Thank you for checking us. And you’re exactly right. Risky play is a privilege that not everyone can afford. But the impulse behind a lot of risky play–while it may not be universal, it appeals to a lot of different people cross-culturally. And the way we define risk varies. You can engage in risky play without a camping permit or skydiving license. Getting out of your comfort zone may look like signing up for water aerobics at the Y, taking two bus transfers to sweat it out in a free yoga class or learning cumbia even though you really can’t dance and are worried that people might stare. 

Either way, risky play helps you build confidence and new skills. Cheyenne “Chey” Smith, 24, is a high-liner from Colorado who boldly crosses steep canyons by balancing on one-inch wide nylon webbing rigged hundreds of feet in the air. For Chey, risky play doesn’t mean the absence of fear. “The scariest moment I have had on a highline was in Moab when a big gust of wind blew through the canyon and pulled the back-up webbing around my body.” Chey recalled. “But even though it was scary, I found confidence in myself to keep walking in the wind. It was a powerful feeling.”

For elite Canadian climber Evan Hau, 37, risky play looks like solo developing new routes, and projecting Fight Club, a 5.15b contender for “the hardest sport climb in Canada.” Growing up, climbing was something he did instinctively. “I think climbing rocks [became] a natural thing for me to pursue as an adult,” Evan explained.

After a cautious childhood, I finally discovered risky play in my mid-20s and spent the next 12 years skydiving, solo hiking and, scariest of all, pushing myself to meet new people. On Saturday mornings, my friends and I would jokingly text each other, ‘can you come out and play’? And that wasn’t so far from the truth. We spent our weekends chasing each other in the sky. And we spent our summers hucking gainers out of tailgate aircraft, road tripping to skydiving festivals, and drinking cheap beer around bonfires. Risky play was finally starting to seem fun. 

2. We are hardwired to take risks and engage in thrill seeking behavior

We take risks because we are hardwired to do so…at least some of us are. I was a fairly cautious kid who became a fairly incautious adult. I think at least some of that is out of my control. I’m definitely not the biggest thrill-seeker I know but I think I thrive with a certain amount of excitement and new experiences in my life. If I go past that threshold, the fun turns off really quickly and I feel overwhelmed. But if my life is too quiet, I’ll find ways to shake things up.

Researchers (mostly old, white and dead) say that people who take unnecessary risks, like skydivers, mountain bikers and thru hikers, are drawn to thrill and adventure seeking because it offers new sensations and novel experiences. The high risk is just icing on top. Hear that? We’re not trying to be assholes to our friends and family when we solo backpack across three continents or when we drag you downtown to try out an improv class despite your intense fear of public speaking. But some combination of nature and nurture is pushing us to do so. 

Is thrill-seeking a universal trait? The white grandaddy of psychological research on thrill and adventure-seeking didn’t think so. Marvin Zuckerman created the 40-question sensation-seeking scale in 1964. It measured thrill and adventure seeking (TAS), disinhibition (Dis), experience seeking (ES) and boredom susceptibility (BS). Then again, it included questions such as “A) I would like to meet some persons who are homosexual” or “B) I stay away from anyone I suspect of being “gay” or “lesbian.” Someone should have told him that gays and lesbians go grocery shopping, pay bills and eat leftovers. Then maybe having queer friends wouldn’t have made the ‘thrill-seeking behavior’ list. Anyways, five more versions of the test followed. 

Zuckerman’s research found that women tended to score lower than men and African-Americans tended to score lower than all other races. According to his findings, “TAS and ES scales represent activities and interests, such as extreme sports and art preferences, which may be of less interest in the larger African American culture.” His research didn’t consider social factors like racial segregation and how it limits the simple act of imagining oneself as a skydiver, pilot or rock climber. If society has been telling people who look like you ‘No’ for hundreds of years, how do you turn that internal ‘No’ into a ‘Yes’, or ‘Maybe.’ That’s a question Melanin Base Camp has been struggling with since 2016, and others, much longer.

We live in a world that tells People of Color ‘No’ a lot. A depressing amount.

Sometimes the ‘No’ is very direct, like being:

• harassed by neighbors and police for fishing while Black

• stalked and murdered for jogging while Black

• harassed by park police for pushing your toddler in a stroller while Black

Sometimes the ‘No’ is indirect, like:

• ‘being the only one’ who looks like you

• feeling chronically stressed from white outdoor organizations with more BLM signs than actual Black people

• realizing that the outdoors comes with unwritten rules that everyone else already seems to know—but you don’t because you didn’t grow up with multigenerational access to public land

And don’t forget about socioeconomic obstacles. Anyone who survives on less than full time hours, no benefits, and an unpredictable work schedule (plus caregiving and parenting responsibilities) knows that thrill-seeking isn’t for everyone. It comes at a cost and not everyone can afford it. This is the world we live in.

On the other hand, it’s completely normal for people to have different approaches to risk. After all, we’re wired differently, and we have different life experiences - especially in childhood - that may shape our approach to risk-taking. 

3. We don’t all view high risk adventure sports as risky or thrill seeking 

For Evan, sport climbing isn’t about thrill seeking. “I don't think my style of climbing is particularly risky,” said the semi-professional climber who has 19 years of experience in the sport. “My scariest moments are actually when I'm out solo developing new routes; either encountering a bear on the hike or trying to make my way to the top of the cliff to build an anchor.” Photos of Evan climbing sheer limestone cliffs with widely spaced barely-there holds definitely look scary! However, it’s true that the way we measure risk is very personal. 

“Sport climbing routes tend to be pretty safe for experienced climbers with appropriate equipment,” according to Evan. Despite projecting Canada’s hardest sport climb, he doesn’t see the sport as particularly dangerous. He also tends to stick to well equipped routes that don't have any large run-outs—where even experienced climbers might find themselves falling too far past their last clipped bolt for comfort. Of course, circumstances have changed over the years. “At higher levels of difficulty, sometimes bolts get skipped either to conserve energy or because the moves are too difficult to let go and clip,” said Evan. “Any time I decide to skip a bolt I am evaluating what could potentially happen if I were to fall and decide if the risk is acceptable or not. If I decide it is not acceptable then usually I end up finding a way to make the clip, even if it is really strenuous and makes the climb harder.”

Similarly, when Chey first began highlining, she made it a priority to “learn how to rig, understand the systems at play and have autonomy over checking other people's rigs.” Even now, she stays clipped on near cliff edges and gets buddy checks for her knots before getting on a line. Taking steps to mitigate risk allows her to focus on the task at hand. She also evaluated risk differently depending on the terrain. “If it is a spot that is known and well-loved, I feel more comfortable highlining there,” Chey explained. Lastly, she embraces the ability to learn and make mistakes despite the dizzying amount of exposure. “The wonderful thing about highlining is you can get on a big line (200m+) to practice, even if you can't walk the whole thing,” Chey explained. “There is a device to roll back if something feels too scary or out of my comfort zone. That has helped me progress in the sport tremendously.”

As beginners, adventure sports can be scary, intimidating, or thrilling. As our experience and skills grow, we tend to downgrade the level of risk that we associate with the same activities that scared the shit out of us when we were beginners. Some of us take more and more risks to keep the same high we felt when we first started. To keep boredom from setting in. To feel challenged. Others don’t. 

When I first began skydiving, I was scared all the time. Being scared was also part of the thrill. But it was also terrifying. As I built time in the sport, some of the edge wore off. Deploying my parachute was no longer a thrilling ‘will it or won’t it open’ moment. Spoiler: it always did! It became just another step.

On the other hand, I had choices to get back to the excitement I initially felt: downsize to a smaller parachute, learn a new discipline, pull a little lower, or travel to a new drop zone. I could choose the “safe” route or I could make the experience a little more thrilling. Of course, there were a lot of things outside of my control, but it felt good to be able to influence the type of experience I wanted. It also made me sound out of pocket to my friends and family when I tried to convince them that my love of skydiving was in spite of the fear I felt, not because of it. You can be a boring skydiver, and I stand by that. We aren’t all chasing the next adrenaline rush. Regardless of where you personally fall on the spectrum, risk-taking has a lot to offer from learning new things to building skills that will allow you to explore the outdoors with more confidence and autonomy. 

4. Unproductive time feels good

Climbing that rock, mastering that rail trick or jumping out of an airplane while holding hands with your best friend on the way down will likely enrich no one else’s life but your own. Unless you have figured out how to do it professionally, it’s a hobby or weekend activity that won’t earn a living. Yes, it is privileged behavior in most cases. The ability to forget about productivity and profit while doing something fun and thrilling is not available to everyone. 

For others, meaning is restricted to a small circle of people that enjoys the same weird shit that we do. The reward is being recognized for an achievement that has little value outside your outdoor community. Your family may worry about your safety but will they be impressed by your life choices? Maybe. While they’re dealing with “real life”, you’re taking an expensive timeout to nurture your soul. So maybe not. But of course it’s a timeout brought to you by capitalism because adventure sports aren’t cheap. Very few unnecessary risks are…

Unproductive time is a privilege—regardless of what you do with it. Some of us spend it on activities that have limited social value and yet prevent us from being able to obtain decent life insurance. Yet, if your goal was simply to get your heart rate up, Toastmasters is in your local area.  So it must be more than just the thrill of a racing heart. 

Evan is nearly three years into his latest project, a 5.15b sport climb that may just be the hardest sport climb in all of Canada. But what value does sport climbing add to society—or any other adventure sport? It’s not helping solve any of society’s major problems. It doesn’t generally capture the public’s attention—with a few exceptions who are all famous white men. But it has value to him and to his friends and community. 

That resonated with me. I jump out of airplanes because of how it makes me feel. I like how quickly the outside world falls away. Then there’s the the chance to be barefoot in summer grass, the sound of the engine quieting as the pilot eases back the throttle on jump run, and the view of the aircraft slipping away as I plummet towards the earth.

Unproductive time can be liberating. Outside of work, we move our bodies differently, we challenge our minds, and rest our souls. Unproductive time feels good. It may not always involve balancing on one-inch webbing a hundred feet in the air, climbing and developing new routes or jumping out of airplanes, but sometimes it does!

5. Want to find forever friends? Jump off a cliff

Remember that moment in childhood when your parent or caregiver asked some version of the following question: “Would you jump off a bridge just because your friend told you to?” Turns out, for some people, the answer is “Yes”. For people on the more extreme end of adrenaline-seeking, risking life and limb also acts as a “intimacy accelerator leading to close bonds and lifelong friendships.” Not one for small talk? Learn to BASE jump or free dive.

Although the danger they face is self-imposed, the close friendships are very real. Turns out, extreme risk-taking with strangers is not very much fun. If you’re going to risk life and limb, it makes more sense to do it alongside close friends or to make new friends as you go.

The thing is you don’t have to try extreme risk-taking to make new friends. Risk-taking is a spectrum of behavior, which means you’re a risk-taker whether you identify as one or not. And you don’t have to venture far outside your comfort zone to find community. The key is to find other people who are interested in the same types of activities as you.

One of my favorite aspects of outdoor sports is having deep conversations with strangers. Yes, it’s a little easier to get into someone’s life story if we just jumped out of a plane together. Even better if we held hands on the way down. It’s a lot easier to strike up a conversation when our heart rates are still elevated, and we’ve somehow forgotten the ‘no new friends’ rule that a lot of adults have. The usual prejudices still apply in high-risk sports but I honestly can’t remember the last time someone asked me “What do you do for a living?” Risking your life together often means skipping straight to the good stuff: hopes, dreams, fears, and what makes you feel alive. It’s one reason why these communities are so tight-knit and insular.

However, if you’re like me, you probably spend most of your time with both feet planted firmly on the ground. In a given week, I actually spend more time rowing with a local adaptive team than I do skydiving. Spending time on the water is incredibly peaceful and people are friendly enough, but it also takes a lot more effort to get past small talk about the weather and traffic. I firmly believe that it’s because skydiving has friendship cheat codes and rowing doesn’t (Yes, the cheat codes work best if you look like every one else but that’s another subject). The end result is that I have to work a lot harder to make friends and build community on the water than I do in the air. But I still find myself spending more time on the river. So I’m taking the lessons I’ve learned from adventure sports and applying them elsewhere. Community matters. And you don’t have to risk life or limb to get it.