Bravery

I've been locked away for a bit.

And, it's been hard and new.

Particularly, for this girl who takes pride in being a loud mouth, social media posting, crazy, runner/coffee drinker/mama yeller/f-bomb dropper--being locked in an office reading everything I can get my hands on while crafting a course syllabus has been illuminatingly trying and terrifying.

And finally, this afternoon, I caught a glimpse of light.

At 1:30pm, with a balmy 18 degrees, I put on my colorful running kicks, strapped my new Garmin and begged for the wind to take me five miles.  Somewhere between the wind blowing in my face, snot trickling down my lip and a lady stopping me about a lost dog;  I started shaping the theme and hope for my new year...bravery.

Like most, I'm intentional about what I want a new year to look like.  I typically name it, praying that by calling out the mantra, setting pen to paper and committing to new behaviors, that life will shift...in a good way.

A week into the new year, I'm realizing that authentic bravery doesn't necessarily come in flashy, public choices.  It finds itself in the daily grind...in the ways we show up, when no one is looking or even when no one cares about what we're doing and we're the only advocate in the room.

It manifests itself in the places where you don't know what you're doing.  I mean where you haven't got a fucking clue and you're just praying that if you make a move that the universe will usher your next one.

It finds itself in the mud and the muck.  You know, the details.  In carving out the plan....painstaking piece by piece, when you'd rather zone out to Netflix, Amazon Prime or eat chocolate--like a LOT of caramel, chocolate followed up by salty, fabulous chips and salsa, yes, Mama Hoots salsa and tortilla chips and then, wait, what's happening on Facebook?  What about Instagram?  And the tree outside?  Where is my neighbor going--didn't she just come home?  And why in all of holy fuck are my kids fighting again over the piano? AND, to that end, another hour has gone by and well, you cannot legitimately check a single item off of your to-do list.

Details.  Sacrifice.  Belief in the journey without any guarantee of success on the other side.  Integrity in the work.

Over Christmas break, my dad came to visit.  We don't usually get to have much one-on-one time, but in a stroke of luck and because my children are desperate to marry their devices, he and I spent a morning talking about everything under the sun.

He recently retired, like two months ago.  He gifted me a desk that he made, hauled it all the way from Dallas, set it up in my office and told me the following...don't be afraid to work, Kel.  It's the only thing you can really call your own.  Roll up your sleeves.  Get messy.  Don't stand on the sidelines waiting for the perfect set of circumstances or the accolades.  That's a bunch of bull shit.  Do it because it's the right thing to do and because your hands touched it.  It's wonderful that God gifted you with a brain but don't be a dip shit.  Put some God damn elbow grease into it and get the job done.  The best people I know work and they don't pass their shit off to other people.  Whatever you do, show up every day.  Make your mark, moment by moment, day by day.

He left and that's what I've been trying to do.  Show up.  Do the work.  And see where it takes me.


I've had quite a few moments that I've felt like this...

Kind of like, fuck me...what am I doing?

But other times, I think about vulnerability, courage, sacrifice, my dad and my students.

I'm excited, terrified, hopeful and I guess...brave.

To Be Brave

I've always been fascinated by what it means to be brave.

Is it strength?  Is it stretching...beyond one's comfort zone into the unknown, the foreign, the uncharted terrain?  Is it simply showing up void of any expectation for outcome other than the moment at hand?  Is it bold?  Does brave scream or does it stand silently by the wayside bearing witness to the action before it? 

Last Saturday it was 17 degrees and fucking cold.  Like the kind of cold where you can both see your breath and simultaneously, catch it realizing that you've been out in the elements too long.

I didn't have much of a choice.  The previous two weeks had not leant themselves to the long run mileage I needed for my training schedule and so against my better judgment I went for 10 miles by myself.

Three miles in, I was feeling really good until I went to suck water from my Camelbak and all I got was air.  The water froze in the tubing and instantly I thought, "I can't do it."

But then, my favorite song came on and somehow, I just kept going.  Catching up to the trail at mile five, I started losing feeling in my face because the north wind was a nasty little bitch and by that point, I was too far away from home to stop and running was the only logical choice to get back to warmth faster.

And so, I kept running.  And as I periodically checked my Garmin, I discovered that the frigid fucking tundra of weather suited my speed well.  I was pacing much faster consistently.  I was shocked, literally and figuratively.

Somehow, I got home...stripped and dove into the hottest bath that you can imagine.  It was painful and blissful all in one breath.

And in that moment, I was brave...not because I was stupid and ran in ridiculous conditions, but because I pushed myself to discern my limits.  And on that day, despite the set backs, I had none.  I was free.

Since then, I've been mindful of what it means to push and what it means to be still...how it is that we seek the unknown and strive to rise when we think we cannot. 

The problem with bravery is that it is a tricky machine.  You want enough of it to launch you into places you've never been before, but not too much to have you believing that you can fly off buildings directly into inevitable demise.

The truth is...bravery is loud when it needs to be, but for me, it's quiet most of the time.  It's the whisper in my mind that drives the beat of my heart and the buzz in my being that creates a slow, growing motion propelling me toward that which I've never known before.  And in the end, I'm better for it.  Just one frozen step at a time.

Choosing Courage

Not long ago, I read a story to my children about courage.

The protagonist, a little boy named Max, tells his father that he wishes he could be brave and strong like him...but that all he feels is fear.  He's afraid of the dark.  Afraid of the boy who lives down the block.  Afraid of the monster in his closet.  Afraid, afraid.

His dad tells him, "Max, true bravery comes when you are most afraid and choose to face your fear anyway." 

I've been afraid a lot lately.  Afraid of dropping lots of balls that I have up in the air.  My jewelry business.  My running plan.  My family's needs.  Volunteer work.  You name it, I'm feeling vulnerable.

I signed up to run my first official race this Sunday.  It's a 5-mile trail run in the middle of January.  I know, what the hell was I thinking?  I have no idea what I'm getting myself into and the truth is I feel much like Max with all of these monsters under my bed.

Searching to face my fear head on...I'm working on honoring the fear, but choosing action anyway....harnessing my inner lioness.  Bring it.