Courage, It's Not What It Feels Like

Spring is finally showing itself and I am relieved to feel the part of me that "notices" is awakening again. Coming out of the recesses is my desire to see details and to be delighted and excited. Thank goodness. Nature is about to burst forth and shower us with growth. I think of it courageously sprouting from the saturated ground and popping out from the stiff bark of the seemingly endless bare branches everywhere. That incredible movement is what I would call courageous and is what has surfaced over the past week.

When I hear the word "courage," what comes to mind, however misguided it is, is the description of someone brave, strong and clear, who launches off to do some daunting task without hesitation. When I think of my life and of the things that I did that I could now say took a good deal of courage, I know I did not feel strong, clear, and brave in the moment. Most of the time, I felt scared, uncertain, somewhat tortured, and on unsteady ground. It is only after the fact that I could recognize that what I did was actually courageous. What the courageous person does have in the moment is a deep understanding that something must be done, some change, some action, some step taken. This is done despite not knowing how it will turn out or if she can accomplish it at all. I recognize that it is not my thoughts that are courageous, no matter how detailed I play them out. It is when these thoughts actually move me. It is when I move out of thinking, or fantasizing, or dreaming to living it.

I look around me lately and I see acts of courage everywhere. I see clients who have been physically and emotionally suffering, who come to the conclusion that there must be another way that entails a completely different approach in their thinking and being. I can see the hesitation, the fear, the doubt, the frustration, but then the action, no matter how small, the change in direction, the willingness to try something unknown or simply the ability to stay present. That is courageous, but they don't see it, not yet. I think of the moments in my life where I took an action, like when I decided to double up my 11th and 12th grade years of high school so I could get out early and follow my path in dance. Or, the action of repeatedly going out on stage alone. Or, when I chose my first partner in life, despite the objections of family around me. Or, when I decided to go back to school at night and on the weekends while also working and dancing. Or, being present with a dying parent. Or, coming home from the hospital with newborn twins. Or, a more recent change in my life that disrupted everything comfortable, familiar, planned, safe. In most of those significant events, I felt frightened, or overwhelmed. At times, I was in pain and suffering. The image that comes to mind this week was standing across from Penn Station on a very windy night looking at five American flags waving fiercely in the wind, while the sixth one was all twisted around the poll. Sometimes a brave act actually feels like that tangled flag. If, at any point in my life, someone had said that what I was doing was courageous, the word would have sailed right over me and landed on a character in a book on my shelf. Not on me.

But now, I understand what courage really looks like and I see tremendous amounts of it all around me. I see it in the people who take an action, despite the huge risk of losing something, which we must do. We lose something in the courageous act because we let go of where we were. We leave something behind to stand up for something greater, or to get to another place, or to bring something to fruition, or to risk ourselves for another. The courageous person, unconsciously makes room for loss. Loss of what is comfortable, easy, safe, predictable, known. It is a sacrifice to something that holds hope.

This goes out to all of you who are taking actions that feel frightening, that sometimes feel like driving in thick fog. They are actions that you can't know are going to lead somewhere "good," but call your name and some truth in you responds. You might not feel courageous, but the rest of us watching, can see it. At some point, you, too, will look back an say, "wow, that took a lot for me to do." If you're in the middle of some transition or just stepping off a cliff, I bow to you in the confusion, in the uncertainty, in the determination. We can't know our own courage, but what we can know is trust in some inner, aware, shaky, but unequivocal voice tells us that we must do something and in hope, which, in the end, is what moves us.