It’s a funny thing, fear. How it carries its weight in the front, all big barrel chest and booming voice. But, if you kick it in the rear how it would tumble ass over tea kettle.
Bravery is its own structure, heavier in the rear, quieter upon approach. It has a low center of gravity and a sturdy stance. You can overlook it if you aren’t paying attention, because fear always causes a commotion. Bravery stands quietly in the winds of conviction. Fear throws the cows and the trashcans and old Buicks in the storm. Bravery cleans the mess, rearranges the front yard and carefully fixes the broken windows.
I am working on my bravery.
For all of these years, I have been ruled by the loudest voice in my head. The one that hair-triggers my emotions and calls out to me embroider my same old patterns with my same old thread. I’ve been weaving this fabric for 18 years, now. Seems I would notice that it has fallen out of fashion. But, I’ve been too busy watching the storm to consider the rain.
I want to be fearlessly, relentlessly present. To appreciate that I will never stand in this space in exactly this same way ever again. Not tomorrow. Not ever. I want to feel the air move against my skin and know that I am meant to be here in this place. As I stand, right now. I am not a mistake. I am not something which was overlooked by a careless fate, rather I am on purpose. Purposeful.
Courage, purpose, presence. A mantra of simplicity which is endless in complexity.