Bravery comes in so many forms. There are those who are brave by choosing to face death through military service, or police force, or peacemaking in war torn countries. There are those who face death for enjoyment, that we might say are brave: skydiving (done this), bungee jumping (no thank you), cliff jumping of various types. I know some of these brave people and often I would choose not to be in their shoes.
A different type of bravery are those who choose to get up each day even though their husband is no longer by their side; they will never see their child again this side of heaven; a dear friend, sister, daughter, wife, mother has been lost. I know some of these brave people and I am always amazed when I see smiles on their faces, knowing that hiding below the surface there is a pain that will never completely go away, yet they choose not only to get up, but to celebrate with others and go on really living. This is a bravery I hope I never have to face any time soon.
I don't usually think of myself as brave, but when several friends/acquaintances were all walking the same hard road of pain and unavoidable loss several months ago, a closer friend to this particular family made a shirt with a mantra that has come back to haunt my mind--- "This is me being BRAVE."
Bravery comes in many forms, and although I do not want to place my bravery on the same level as the types of bravery mentioned above, I have often found myself lately telling myself "this is me being brave."
I grew up with a profound fear of failure. I don't know where it came from. I can tell you for sure that my parents were not standing over me looking for any time I failed and pointing it out. In fact, what I recall from my parents is support, encouragement and love. But somewhere along the lines I became afraid to fail. Maybe it was my shyness and the fact that sometimes failure means more attention. Whatever it was, I can pinpoint times when my belief that failure was BAD was confirmed--The time my 5th grade student teacher laughed at me for spelling a word wrong; my 8th grade teacher who told the class "mark it on your calendars, Fairlight got an answer wrong." Yes, I know, what fond childhood memories I hold on to. I think I need therapy, but apparently blogging is the best I can do right now.
All that to say, my fear of failure made it hard for me to be brave. There are so many things in life I feel like I avoided because they might have meant failing and thus experiencing rejection, ridicule and embarrassment. Or even social gatherings avoided due to a fear of not doing things correctly.
It has taken well in to my adult life to realize that failure is not a bad thing. Often it means trying again or letting someone help you, or even laughing at yourself and moving on. Taking risks (whether risking failure, or looking awkward) often brings great joy.
Being brave recently has meant things like:
- Attempting to re-purpose or repair furniture even if I don't fully know what I am doing
- Hosting people I don't know very well at my house (fixing meals somehow always holds a low level of anxiety--will people like it? will it turn out alright? will there be enough?)
- Making phone calls or starting conversations with people I don't know well
May we all continue to be brave in both the big and hard things, and the things that may just be hard for us--This is me being brave.
