How many times in your life have you been warned, “Don’t fly too close to the sun”?
It is a phrase you hear people say all the time. It’s the caution we give to dreamers, to the ambitious, and to the bold. It is a warning against hubris – a reminder to stay humble, stay safe, and know your place.
But did you know that is only half of the saying?
For years, I accepted this advice at face value. But recently, I found out there’s an important missing piece to the story. When we only focus on the sun, we miss the more urgent warning – and the one that applies to far more of us.
For those that don’t know, the idiom comes from the Greek myth of Daedalus and his son, Icarus. Imprisoned in a tower in Crete, Daedalus—a master craftsman—constructs wings made of feathers and wax so they can escape the island.
Before they take flight, Daedalus grips his son’s shoulders and gives him specific flight instructions. We all remember the first part: do not fly too high, or the sun will melt the wax and you will fall.
But we conveniently forget the second instruction. Daedalus also commanded:
“Do not fly too low, or your wings will clog with the damp of the sea and weigh you down.”
The warning wasn’t just about the heat; it was about the dampness. If Icarus flew too close to the waves, the spray would soak his feathers, making them heavy, dragging him into the ocean just as surely as a fall from the heights would.
Why do we obsess over the sun but ignore the water?
I think it’s because “crashing and burning” is dramatic. It’s loud. It’s visible. But “drowning” in the water is quiet. It happens slowly. It happens when you are just trying to be safe.
The “ocean” represents the comfort zone. It is the path of least resistance. It is the choice to stay low, keep your head down, and do just enough to get by.
Too many of us are flying dangerously close to the water. We are letting our wings get heavy with the dampness of complacency, procrastination, and fear. We think we are being smart by avoiding the sun, but in reality, we are suffocating our potential.
When I say we need to fly higher, I don’t mean we all need to be billionaires or tech moguls.
We have a skewed definition of “greatness” today. We look at Elon Musk, Steve Jobs, or Jeff Bezos and think that if we aren’t disrupting an industry, we aren’t succeeding. That isn’t true.
Greatness isn’t about fame or how big of an impact you have on the world.
Greatness looks different for every single person, but the mechanics are the same: it requires rejecting the dampness of mediocrity.
We need fathers who fly close to the sun by loving their children and being truly present.
We need accountants who take pride in the perfect accuracy of their work.
We need teachers who refuse to just “get through the day” and instead ignite curiosity.
Whatever you are called to do with your life, do it with greatness in mind. If you are going to be a barista, be the best damn barista within a hundred miles.
It is something I have had to learn the hard way. Looking back, I realize there have been seasons where I hovered just above the waves. I wasn’t crashing, but I wasn’t flying, either. I was just… existing.
I chose the easy path because the sun was scary. The sun represents the risk of failure, the criticism of others, and the hard work of discipline.
But the cost of comfort is that your wings eventually stop working. You become too heavy to lift.
We have enough people playing it safe. We have enough people floating just above the surface, terrified of getting burned.
The world doesn’t need more people flying low. It needs people who are willing to feel the heat. It needs people who understand that the risk of burning up is actually preferable to the certainty of drowning in the ordinary.
Check your altitude. If you feel the spray of the ocean on your face, it’s time to pull up.
Fly closer to the sun.