What would I do if I knew I could not fail?

Whenever I feel backed into a corner by life, I ask myself this question. It's the key to my self-made prison door, at least for a few magical moments. What would I do if I knew, beyond any doubt, with total certainty, that no matter what I did, I could not fail?

When I ask this question, two things happen. First, the pressure on my chest lifts a little bit. I have given myself permission to make "bad" choices. The question promises me my choices will not lead to failure. That means there are no mistakes. All paths are valid, all paths lead to learning. Some paths may be less painful than others, but none can be considered a total loss.

Next, with the pressure off my chest, I begin to breathe more deeply, and with oxygen, my creativity begins to flow a little less sluggishly. Possibilities start to burble to the surface of my messy bog of a brain. The fear recedes. The prison walls fade.

For a few brief moments I am suspended in the great What-if. Through a haze of creative possibilities I see another version of myself accomplishing remarkable feats, creating fantastic images, bringing light to the grim twilight world, and being abundantly compensated—financially, emotionally, and spiritually. For a few heady moments I'm not me, I'm someone else, someone with creative power and fearless productivity, making art, writing stories, expressing my certainty. For a few moments, I am positive that everything I do will be a satisfying success.

Then my normal fearful self grabs the wheel and steers away from the cliff. Whew. Close one. I almost took a chance on myself. I almost let go of my chronic malcontentedness. What would I do if I knew I could not fail? That question is deadly. Asking that question can lead to change. And we all know what happens when we allow change to happen. Things aren't the same anymore.