It’s getting tough.
All those things that I thought were me for so long are gone. My car and my apartment, and my ability to make my own living. The areas where I’m talented are not areas needed here. The gifts I have are not recognized, because here everyone is gifted, and more often than not in the same areas as you. And a lot of times they’re better than you at it.
They say being brave is not a quality or personality characteristic, but an action. Like love, bravery is a verb. My dear friend Hannah writes about it in her fantastic, need-to-read blog (which you can find at http://hannahponders.wordpress.com), and she says it’s like jumping off a swing, “exhilarating-and-totally-terrifying,” which is a pretty apt description. Many people say bravery is like that. They say it’s an adventure, life is an adventure; it’s all like a roller coaster.
But what about people that don’t like roller coasters? What about people that don’t like surprises and uncertainty and the feeling of being out-of-control?
What about people like me?
The control freaks of the world. The people who hate that feeling of rush in their bellies when they go careening down a roller coaster at a hundred miles an hour (or when their car goes over that little bitty hill at even 30 miles per hour and it still happens). What about people who like to know what they’re signing up for, so they can be prepared for come-what-may?
What about the freaking Boy Scouts?!
I’m not a prude, you know. I’m not an anti-fun fuddy-duddy who hates excitement and lives for PBS. (Although, sometimes PBS really is pretty great).
You know what? I like the spinny rides at carnivals and theme parks. That’s right. The ones that make you throw up? Like the Scrambler? That’s what I love.
I love knowing that this family or group of friends is going to get across the country, because I know how far the gas tank will get us before we have to stop, and I know where to look for camping sites.
I know how to make camping a blast for 6 year olds who, without foresight, would be covered in mosquito bites and poison ivy.
I like to preview movies before I go see them, because I know if it’s terrifying I will get up and leave in the middle, and then have nightmares that night, and who wants to tag along for that experience?
I like to make informed and well-thought-out decisions, and I don’t like to sign my name to or agree to things that I don’t understand, especially trying to live out being a woman of my word.
I don’t wear bright red lipstick because it looks terrible on me and anyone who says differently is either lying or has no idea how to compliment someone. If I dared to wear it just because someone labeled it “brave” I would look awful. But I do look good in chapstick. Especially right after I brush my teeth.
But that doesn’t really qualify as brave because it doesn’t stretch limitations or push boundaries or go against the grain, even the inner kind.
No.
No, my kind of brave is perhaps a little more subtle. Perhaps it’s a little less attractive, and has a little less glitz and glamour and spotlight. My kind of brave has to do with doing the necessary when the unthinkable happens. It has to do with the tweezers and the needle and your screaming when you have a splinter, or road rash.
My kind of brave has to do with saying something even though I know someone is going to shoot it down. I say it anyway.
My kind of brave says “No, I’m going to stay in tonight,” when I’m exhausted or overwhelmed or when I have to wake up early. My kind of brave is a little bit responsible, and a little bit lazy, and a little bit boring.
And that’s okay by me.
It’s okay that I don’t like roller coasters. It’s okay that I like to plan my weekend away. It’s okay that I disagree with you or you disagree with me, and we can still like and respect each other.
It’s okay that my heels aren’t too high and my skirts aren’t too short and my hair isn’t too teased. It’s okay that my idea of a Fun Night In involves knitting. It’s okay that my idea of a fun night out includes a movie theatre or a coffee shop. It’s okay that my kind of brave is different than your kind of brave, and both kinds make us a little more confident, a little more us.
It’s okay that my kind of brave sounds boring to you.
I’m still going to be it.
And that makes me brave.
