Everyone wants to be safe. Well, I got news for you: You can't

The words of Lemmy—“Everyone wants to be safe. Well, I got news for you: You can't be safe. Life's not safe. Your work isn't safe. When you leave the house, it isn't safe. The air you breathe isn't going to be safe, not for very long. That's why you have to enjoy the moment.”—burn with the raw fire of truth. They strip away illusions, reminding us that safety is but a fragile dream, a cloak we drape over ourselves to shield us from the storm. But storms cannot be kept away by dreams. Life itself is peril, each breath a risk, each step a gamble. Yet within this fragility lies the beauty of existence: because we are never safe, every moment becomes sacred.

When he says “you can’t be safe,” he names the reality that many deny. Empires have built walls, but walls crumble. Men have hoarded wealth to shield themselves, but wealth vanishes in the blink of fate. Even the body, fortified by youth, yields eventually to time. The ancients knew this well. Marcus Aurelius wrote, “You could leave life right now. Let that determine what you do and say and think.” To demand safety from life is to demand that rivers not flow and stars not fade. Life is change, risk, and uncertainty—and it is precisely this that gives it its worth.

Lemmy’s declaration that even “the air you breathe isn’t going to be safe” pierces to the heart of mortality. Breath is the essence of life, yet it is fleeting. The ancients revered breath as the spirit, the pneuma, the divine spark that animates the flesh. To remind us that even breath is temporary is to remind us that nothing we cling to is permanent. And yet, rather than despair, Lemmy commands us to embrace joy—not someday, not in imagined safety, but here and now, in the fragile moment that is truly ours.

History offers a mirror of this truth. Consider Alexander the Great, who conquered empires yet died at thirty-two, his vast dominion slipping like sand through his fingers. Despite his victories, he could not master safety or time. Yet contrast him with Epicurus, who taught his followers in a simple garden that true pleasure lies in savoring small joys: friendship, bread, and the peace of the present hour. One sought immortality through conquest; the other found eternity in each fleeting breath. Both remind us that the only true possession is the moment.

The meaning of Lemmy’s words is not despair but liberation. If nothing is truly safe, then we are free from the chains of endless worry. If tomorrow is never guaranteed, then today is infinitely precious. Fear of danger can paralyze the spirit, but acceptance of life’s peril awakens it. This is why he insists: “That’s why you have to enjoy the moment.” Not because life is trivial, but because life is fragile, and fragility makes it priceless.

For us, the lesson is urgent: stop waiting for perfect safety before living fully. Do not delay joy, do not postpone love, do not bury your passions until tomorrow, for tomorrow may never come. Safety is a mirage, and those who chase it waste their days in fear. Better to embrace risk with open eyes, to live boldly, and to cherish the fleeting beauty of each breath.

The practical action is this: each morning, remind yourself that safety is not promised, but presence is possible. Laugh more, even in uncertainty. Tell those you love what they mean to you. Take risks worthy of your soul—risks for truth, for art, for kindness, for courage. Live as though each day were a gift of fire in the dark, because it is.

Thus let this wisdom be passed down: life is not safe, and that is its glory. To seek only safety is to miss the wonder of living. But to embrace risk, to treasure the moment, to walk unafraid of the storm—this is to live as the ancients counseled and as Lemmy roared. Do not waste your days hiding from danger. Step into life, fragile and fierce, and drink deeply of the moment that is yours.