on being brave

Dear Hilary,

You wrote this blog post a while back and it's bringing tears to my eyes as I read it right now. It was called "Dear Hilary, Be Braver".

I've been thinking about being brave and believing the good truth about myself and who I am. I've been pondering it as I drove to a beautiful wedding on a Saturday afternoon, and as I drive to work sometimes before the sun comes up.

Hilary, I don't feel brave.

The truth is that I feel more scared than brave. Scared of my own limits and what I can and can't do. Scared of insecurity and what I say and what I should have said, scared of being alone. I've come to terms with the fear: I'm looking at it directly with both eyes fixed on it, trying to decide what I want to do with the fear. And I turned to your writing for encouragement, because I already knew I could find it there:

"Brave looks like wearing bright blue pants on a Friday night, like eating Ben & Jerry’s from the carton, like whispering to your best friend that you do not know if you can believe that you are worthy. Yes, un-vulnerable, brave is in the work of admitting all the places where you ache. This year, my year of 22, I have learned that to be brave is to walk into a room and, for just a moment, believe that all things work together for the good."

Do you remember that poem we had to read as TGC fellows? The one about courage in the small things by Anne Sexton? 

("It is in the small things we see it.

The child's first step,
as awesome as an earthquake.
The first time you rode a bike,

wallowing up the sidewalk....")  

I think about that poem all the time. I think about the small things: I wonder what it would be like if I encouraged myself to believe that it is in the small things that I, too, am brave.

Thank you for reminding me that bravery isn't just in the climbing Mt. Everest and acing a job interview: bravery is believing in ourselves and staring at truth that is the aching. Thank you for reminding me that it's brave to recognize our own weakness and love ourselves in spite of it, it's brave to speak a different language even when you make a hundred mistakes, it's brave to ask the hard questions, it's brave to roller blade at lunch with the dorky helmet because you just want to be reminded that exercise is fun again.

Do you think it's possible to change our outlook on being brave? I think the world needs it: we all need more encouragement in the small things, we need to be reminded that they matter. Because it's in those moments (seemingly small) that we see truth: that we are beautiful, that we are capable of more than we think we are, and that rollerblading is in its own dorky fashion, perhaps the funnest way to spend a Monday lunch break. 

It's in the small things, Hilary. Thank you for teaching me that.

Love, Alyssa