Grace in a Tree


I don’t make new year’s resolutions because I don’t believe in waiting to make changes once a year. That just seems silly to me, seems to set yourself up for failure with a lot of heavy expectations and pomp and circumstance. I prefer to make changes when needed, as needed. And since these changes are usually about self-improvement or improving the quality of my life, these changes are needed on a continuous basis because I’m a bit of a fixer-upper.

I can always stand to be more patient and understanding. I could use some work on self-care and kindness. I am also on a constant quest for grace. To be more gracious, to give more grace. So I work on this daily, and some days are better than others. Sometimes I need reminders. I have temporary tattoos of “Grace” for a visual nudge. I even brought home an abandoned kitten I named Grace.

I expect the quality of my life will improve when I bring more grace into my life. I believe I should be more content and that life should be better if I offered more grace, if I was more gracious. And sometimes I remember that Shoulds get me nowhere except stuck. Just like what happens when you invite Grace into your home, and she gets stuck in your Christmas tree.

Turns out I had forgotten kittens are furballs on crack, intent on scratching new leather furniture and breaking glass ornaments. Turns out that you can invite grace into your life, into your home, but grace doesn’t automatically make your life or home calmer or better or more joyful. Turns out that having grace in your home simply means you’ve opened your heart and home to the opportunities of love, connection, sweet moments. And you’ve also opened your heart and home to minor destruction, lots of screaming and spray bottles, and frustration.

Turns out kittens are a lot like life. Some moments are better than others. The joy accompanies the pain. And things aren’t always what you think they will be. This all reminds me of a common misconception about meditation. Oftentimes people seek a meditation practice because they believe it will end their suffering. It is hard work, the being still and accepting, and when you think you’ve sorta got the hang of it, you realize there’s no end to pain and losses and hurts. But wait, I thought if I learned how to be still, I should not feel depressed or hurt again! But you do realize the experience, the suffering, is different. We have these expectations of outcomes once we master a skill or take an action, yet oftentimes reality is a bit different than what we bargained for.

Some years ago I started working on being vulnerable, authentic, brave. I needed to figure out who I really was, and I needed to like who I am. I also knew my past relationships failed in part because I had not been vulnerable, authentic, brave. So I did a lot of hard work, and I love the place where I am now, and I love who I am now. I also realized I thought I should have better relationships, should feel more joy, should be coupled successfully, once I was more vulnerable and brave.

And yet I find that I’ve also felt pain, also had to redefine success, also still have no relationship. But…I thought once I got there, was brave, was gracious, things would fall into place! And I’m reminded that I did fall into place. I’m right where I’m supposed to be at this moment, with Grace in my home reminding me to take down the Christmas tree.

Posted in Dating, Empowerment, Meditation, Mindfulness, Relationships | Tagged , , , | 1 Comment

How to Heal Our Country


It has been 12 days since the election. I have been sitting with it all, not sure what to say, think, write. Everyone has something to say. It’s hard for me to take it all in, to sit and listen to all the opinions and facts and projections and fears and hopes and anger and glee. I wish I was a better orator and had the intelligence and grace to know how I feel and what I think about all this, and espouse eloquently.

Then I remember I am a writer, a storyteller. So I can do that, I can tell you a story. I will tell you a story, because the one thing I do know post-election 2016, is that I want each of you to write your own story instead of reading other people’s stories. This is the one thing I do know. My voice needs to be heard. Your voice needs to be heard. This is a story of how we got to today, and what we need to do tomorrow to keep writing our own stories.

I have never felt such great sadness and fear about our country and our world and our literal existence with any previous election. My preferred candidate has not always won, and I have not agreed with everything any president has ever said or done. I’ve gotten angry, but I’ve never felt such alarm in my heart as I see how divided we’ve become as a country, as a world. I suspect this storyline is familiar to you too.

It does not matter who I voted for. It matters that our country is a democracy, and I don’t always get what I want. It matters that our country values freedom of speech, so that I can tell you what I’m thinking and feeling, and you can tell me what you’re thinking and feeling.

This matters because we’ve stopped doing that. We are here today because along the way, we began to shout at each other instead of talking with each other. We stopped looking people in the eye. We stopped sharing coffee and walks with people. We stopped remembering we are more similar than different. We forgot we belong to each other.

As our lives became busier, and as we created and stayed in echo chambers of our making, as we shared memes and sound bites, as we read click bait headlines, we began to see the world in Other Groups. Blues and Reds. Whites and Browns. Haves and Have Nots. And so many more Me and You Groups. And we haven’t stopped to take the time to notice what color their eyes are. We haven’t stopped to take the time to find out how their fears developed, how their families have thrived, how they’ve struggled. Instead of making eye contact with each other, we stare at the headlines and memes on our phones. We have forgotten our humanity.

Everyone in every Other Group feels invalidated. Feeling like you are not being heard leads to knowing your needs aren’t being met. Fear and anger fester and grow. And we start calling large swaths of humans some horrible names. Racists. Chinks. Misogynists. Faggots. We ascribe and project characteristics to people we don’t know. We don’t know who these people are, what their stories are, what color their eyes are. We don’t know how they got to their place in that Other Group. But we think we already know all about them.

And so here we are today in the storyline. This is a democracy so we have to accept election results whether we like it or not. Acceptance does not mean you like it. This democroacy also means you may be delirious with joy and hope for the future. This is a democracy so you can say and do what you can appropriately to try to have your needs met. This is where you change the words you are using to tell your story. This is the really important part.

I understand we have to talk things through with like-minded and trusted friends to process our feelings and formulate our points of view. I understand we need to read about current events. Do all of that. Then do more. Read more. Read more about the history and context of each issue you are passionate about. Read things from different points of view. Read it all with an open mind and a skeptical eye.

Then do two things. One is to do good works. I know we take comfort in sharing hashtags and changing profile pictures and wearing safety pins. I know there is comfort and support in solidarity. But do more. Make the time to write and call your elected government officials. Make time to volunteer with causes you care about, whether it’s working a phone bank or stuffing envelopes or raising money or organizing rallies or boycotts. Just do something. Make time to impact the passage of bills you do not agree with, or with bills you do agree with. I don’t care what you agree with. This is the beauty of a democracy, I may not agree with you, but I urge you to do what you believe in. Protesting and rallying is important to let the world hear your voice. Showing up is only the first step though. It’s not enough. If you don’t like how policies are being made, find out what you need to do and who to contact to have your voice heard.

You must do something other than comment on Facebook or discuss at a cocktail party or march with a sign. You do not get the right to bitch about something if you don’t do something about it. Do something. Do something real and meaningful and impactful. Do works that impact issues and policies. Stop worrying about characteristics of people with opposing points of view. The latter does not impact change. Be a change agent. This is your country. This country is part of your story. Write your story.

And as you write your story, be mindful of the words you choose. This is the second thing you must do. Words matter. They have meaning. Words can hurt, words can heal. Use them carefully. Use them to connect. As you gain a greater understanding of the issues you care about, as you do good works, go and meet real people in the Other Groups. Go and sit with them. With one of them. With some of them. Bring coffee. Bring cake. Bring grace. Ask her name. Ask for his story. Keep your mouth shut so you can look into her eyes and listen to her story and pain and fears and failures and struggles and injustices. Find out how he got to this place in his life where he believes the things he does.

Take the story in. Do not judge. Take a deep breath and be still. Holding someone’s story is sacred work. Holding someone’s story means accepting this person as who she is, without judgment. When we judge, we are not connecting. We are building a wall greater than any wall any president can build. When we judge, we are perpetuating the stereotypes of an Other Group. “See, she’s so elitist, she doesn’t understand. See, he’s so uneducated, he’s too stupid to comprehend. How can they possibly think that way?”

That gets us nowhere. We’re back to shouting at each other, talking over each other, forgetting that we don’t all have to agree all the time. We need differences of opinion. We also need to remember that it’s easier to compromise with someone we validate, while it’s easier to dismiss someone we don’t see as human, as someone who belongs to us, to you. We each have a right to our opinions and beliefs. We don’t have to agree with them. We do however have to find a way to work with them if there’s any hope for humanity.

We all have flaws and fears that mold and create our beliefs and behaviors. We are all messy human beings. We all get swept up in things. It’s time to stop and be still, and breathe. And get to work, one connection at a time. Actively getting involved both within your own Group, and getting to know and understand the Other Group. The only hope for salvation for all of us is real change on an individual level. We must write our stories with humanity and grace and kindness. We each have a responsibility for this.

There are no easy answers. There is no quick fix. There is never enough grace. Especially in the face of outrage and despair and anger and fear. There is work to be done. A lot of it. Choose your words mindfully, pack a lot of kindness and grace, and start writing the rest of your story, the rest of our country’s story, the rest of the world’s story. One of our greatest storytellers, Garrison Keillor’s famous line is: “Be well, do good work, and keep in touch.”

Do that. Take good care of yourself, do, and I mean do, good works, and keep in touch. Reach out to the Others, connect, stay in touch. Please do this, because I really should not increase my alcohol consumption long term, and I’m not sure how much more of this I can take.

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And Then There Was a Teen



Dear my sweetest son,

I’ll wake tomorrow with a teenager in my home. I’ve seen this day coming for a while now. I’ve seen you grow taller; taller than your friends, taller than your grandmother, then taller than me. I’ve heard your soft voice turn into a deep baritone. I’ve heard your giggly belly laughs turn into deep, loud chuckles.

I had no idea what I was doing when we brought you home. I remember panicking in the back seat as I watched you squirm in the car seat. I literally had no idea what I was supposed to do with you when the car stopped. I had no idea what I was supposed to do with myself when the car stopped. I had no idea what I was supposed to do with my life, your life, the world, when the car stopped. It was the slowest, longest drive home.

I held on tight to the scheduled feedings and sleep training rules and beneficial music and language classes. I held on tight to anything I was told I was supposed to do so that I wouldn’t drown under the weight of such serious responsibility. I held on tight to the rules and shoulds so that I wouldn’t fuck you up.

Through the years, thankfully for all involved, especially your pediatrician, I exhaled and learned to trust myself and you. Turns out despite my questionable parenting and character flaws, you are an amazing human being. I’ve watched you grow comfortable in your own skin. I’ve watched you cultivate a quiet confidence in your own being. I’ve watched you do really hard things, really scary things, and I’ve watched you realize you’ve survived them all. I’ve watched you work so hard at learning coping skills, at learning to sit in negative feelings, at learning to accept things aren’t fair. I’ve watched you take the high road when it would feel so much better to lash back.

I’ve watched you face disappointments and rejections and failures. I’ve watched you suffer losses through death, ridicule through teasing, longing for a person you’ll never get. It’s in these moments my heart breaks for you, and it fills simultaneously. It fills with pride that you are navigating life’s ups and down and turns with an amazing maturity, acumen, resilience.

I watch you make decisions based on principles and values. I watch you demonstrate kindness and empathy and grace. I watch you see there are grays in this world, that good people can sometimes act like jerks, that good intentions aren’t always enough, that there are rarely any singular right answers. I see you struggle with the nuances of life.

I see all of this contrasted with the moments where you’re being a kid. When you lash out at your sister and call her names as you seethe with anger. When you get caught up in silly kid play and someone gets hurt. When you come up to me and ask me for a hug.

And again my heart breaks with pride and love. You have done so much amazing work in actively deciding who you want to be. You have done so much work in owning your feelings and your actions. You thanked me the other day for doing such a great job in raising you. I need to thank you for being such an amazing son, an amazing young man.

You forced me to be a better person in every way. Thank you. You make the world a better place every day. I can’t wait to see how you continue to impact this world with your love and thoughtfulness and kindness and grace.

I will never have a greater success. Some moments I chuckle out loud and marvel that I might have actually done something right. The moment you were born and they placed you on my chest, I cried. I felt the world shift. In that one moment everything changed. Part of that was probably the fact that I’d been laboring for almost 24 hours and I was grateful I could finally stop pushing. But mostly it was because I felt everything inside me shift. And settle. For the first time in my life, I knew I was exactly where I was supposed to be. I was born for that moment.

I want you to take these lessons you’ve learned, and recognize all the moments where you’re supposed to be. And be kind and graceful in those moments. Be courageous and helpful in those moments. Always remember it’s OK to be scared and brave at the same time, and that taking risks is the only way to live fully. Do good works and do hard work. Do all of this even when you panic and have no idea what you’re supposed to do with your life. Eventually life will unfold as it will, and my God, it is a glorious life.

You already embody so many truths of this world, truths that took a lifetime to learn for me. You kick ass in all the ways that count. I can’t wait to continue to witness your growth as my son, a brother, a citizen of this world. Now please, remember to use deodorant daily and stop harassing your sister.

Happy 13th birthday, my sweetest love.



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Grace in a Box


I do not go to church often because I don’t seem to find God there. I find Him at the beach, I think we are kindred spirits. I also find him at Holy Cross Abbey during silent monsatic retreats. Some years ago, I discovered during a retreat, that God comes to you. Indeed, He does.

I attend these retreats not because I’m a religious person, but because I’m a spiritual person, and sometimes I need to reset. I go to ground myself. Re-center. I go to dig deep and find the reservoirs of grace and forgiveness and loving kindness that I have buried deep in me. I go to meditate. To still my thoughts and to practice Being Here Now. Each time I go, I find that God does come to me.

I’ve been struggling to find Grace. I gravitate towards people who seem to have an inherent baseline of grace in their DNA. I have an inherent baseline of impulsivity and absurdity. So I am always working on grace. Practicing grace. Remembering to invite grace to be my friend and come to happy hour with me.

On this retreat, God came to me, and brought me grace. Meet Grace. This is what she looks like today:

See, I recently had to put my 20-year-old cat down. It was the most traumatic decision of my life. I never wanted to be put in that position again, to have to decide to take a life even when I knew intellectualy it was the right thing to do. La Chica, however, thinks I’m much more resilient than I really am, and has been begging for another cat. The Boy only grunts these days, and he too grunts his agreement. I stood firm, No cats.

Then, after hours of hiking, hours of sitting by the Shenandoah River, hours of reading, hours of meditating, all in silence, a fellow retreatant pops up and asks, “Want a kitten?” I had been looking for God, and once again, God came to me.

This was the cutest, cuddliest, meowiest kitten ever. She seemed about 6 weeks old, and starving. She was found in a bucket in a horse stall in an abandoned barn. There were no signs of her mother or siblings. The foxes would surely feast on her soon. I explained why I couldn’t take the kitten, but we both felt bad returning her to the barn and to an almost certain fate. We decided to hold on to her for a bit and ask the monks what we should do.

As we walked, I asked the retreatant her name, “I’m Grace,” she said. Well, that did it. I’m a big believer in signs, and a woman named Grace offering me a kitten in a place that is sacred to me cannot be ignored. You don’t just turn down the gift of Grace.

So my heart was torn. I melted for this cat. Yet I didn’t want to be put in the position to potentially put another pet down again. I realized that fear was living 12 years from now, and I needed to Be Here Now. The next right thing was to bring the cat home. Today is what I have, and I was literally holding Grace in my hands, and Grace was meowing at me.

On this retreat, I was reminded about many things through meditation, reading, and Father James. I was reminded about unconditional/conditional love, trust, faith, empathy, being human. About enjoying moments and people and things for the value of those moments and people and things, and not for an end goal or future outcome. Those were all wonderful and timely reminders. But as I sat in those, I knew God had not come quite yet, until she did.

I came looking for God and Grace. They both came to me in their own time, as they always do. And Grace came home in a box.

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Apple of My Eye

Image courtesy of pixabay

Image courtesy of pixabay

It’s apple season. And apples really don’t fall far from the tree. I have always said La Chica is an apple that didn’t fall far from the Momma tree. It’s clear she’s stubborn, fierce, and feels things much more intensely than the average bear. I always used to think the Boy had pieces of a younger me, the anxiety, the shyness, the quest for perfection. I saw shades of me in the Boy, but I never thought his apple fell that close to me.

Now, I’m reminded I always underestimate my children. This Boy, I used to think he was who I used to be when I was a child. He started his life slowly, hesitating, unsure. Afraid to try new things. Afraid of his own shadow. Afraid and uncomfortable to be in his own skin. He slowly dabbled in things to see if they’d fit: fencing, horseback riding, robotics, soccer, lacrosse, scouts, orchestra. He’s slowly learning to feel what resonates with him.

As he knocks on the door of Teenhood, he has outgrown and discarded his former shell of his youth like a molting crab. I turn around and suddenly there’s this Man-Child. And I’m both simultaneously proud of him, and exhausted. You see, I pack more into a day than the average bear does in a lifetime. I realized long ago that this one life we are given is one hell of a life, if you make it one. So much to see, so much to do, so much to feel. The possibilities are endless, if you see opportunities instead of hardships and obstacles.

So I venture out and explore the world, I give my time and efforts back to the community, I create relationships with others to feel feely things. I work hard, raise my family fiercely, and fill my soul intensely. I am always making, doing, being. I do hard things. I am scared and brave. I believe that I can do anything, and I do. Anything. And everything. Sometimes not well, but I do them anyway. The kids have always seen efficiency at it’s best, and worst, in me. I am mindful to do and be as much as possible to fill my soul and be a good citizen to this world. Sometimes I’m successful at the juggling act, sometimes not so much. Sometimes I’m cranky, sometimes I’m at happy hour. They bear witness to this every day . I do all of those things not only for me, but because having children forces me to be a better person because there’s always someone stalking me.

And someone’s been taking notes. I can’t get mad at him for that. But my God, I don’t know how I’m going to manage our schedules. The Boy has suddenly decided he’s hell bent on leadership positions in scouts for both altruism and self-improvement. He’s also decided he’s volunteering, a lot, at a horse rescue shelter, which happens to be very, very far away. And he’s decided he’s improving his self-defense skills by adding another class to his schedule. All while attending Chinese school on weekends, playing the cello, working towards his Eagle rank in scouts, and doing well in school. And yes, somehow he still finds time to complete his chores, read for pleasure, fight with his sister, and play like a Boy should.

And I was just calling him lazy yesterday. And in many moments, he is. In many moments, I am too. I had no idea this little apple had been watching me grow and reach for the light. I turned around last night after he begged to be able to volunteer in a leadership position, and I realized he’s taking root and reaching for the light too. I caution him about being overscheduled, he nods and continues to reach for the light. In that one moment, I see that he has goals for his life, and he’s working towards those goals. I see that he’s developed the perspective and attitude that we prioritize and do what we need to, just do it. I see that he’s willing to do the hard work it takes to achieve. I see that he’s choosing to fill his moments with activities that fill his soul. I see him settle into his own skin. I see him making calculated decisions to be an active participant in this world, instead of just sitting and being, hiding in shadows, in my shadow. Just in time, he’s starting to bear fruit.

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Timing Is Everything

7/8 time signature, timing, life lesson, expectations, timing is everything, shoulds

There is something you must know about me. I hate math. And math hates me. I hate numbers. They confuse me. The only numbers I understand are the number of shoes I own, and that gives me great comfort. Otherwise, numbers give me great agita. So when my drum teacher sat me down, very excited about teaching me a new song that has both 4/4 time and 7/8 time, I tried really hard not to throw a chair or my drum sticks at him.

So instead I threw glares at him, because I love him and am allergic to restraining orders and assault charges. He explained what 4/4 and 7/8 time meant, and I made him explain it again. And again. And again. And again. He told me not to think about this as math, that it’s not math. They’re not fractions even though they look like fractions. It’s about counting.

And this is when I got pissed, and uncomfortable. What do you mean you can have two different time signatures in one song? How can you just shift tempos in one song? And what is this 7/8 business? This 7 beats in a measure business? I told him I needed a minute.

See, up until now, my drumming world was in 4/4 time. Those were the parameters and rules and expectations and shoulds of my world. I knew what to expect. I knew how it sounded. I knew how to count it. I knew what to do and when to do it in a 4/4 world. This, this 7/8 business, shook my world. I didn’t know it existed. I didn’t know what was expected of me. I didn’t know what I was supposed to do, or how it sounds in the end.

Life continues to provide opportunities to learn, continues to provide gentle reminders. I need to be reminded that I like having parameters, expectations, shoulds; and that just because I like something, doesn’t make it a reality. I grew up thinking the world is one way. And in that one way, everything fit neatly into compartments, boxes. And each of these compartments had clear operating rules. You go to school, work hard, get a good job, and live a comfortable life. You date, you get married, it’s hard, but everything works out in the end because happily ever after. You get the picture. Every box had a formula, standard operating procedures, and a clear story ending. That was my understanding of life.

Until I started living my life. I dated. I got married. I had two kids. It was hard. I got divorced. Wait a second. That was not supposed to happen. Let me tell you, that shook my world off its axis. That made me realize everything I ever understood about life was not true. The expectations, the shoulds, the formula, none of that was true. I didn’t know what to expect anymore. I didn’t know what to do anymore. I didn’t know what to think or want anymore. I didn’t know how to be anymore. I needed a minute. Or two. Or five years. I had to make sense of what no longer made sense. And in this, I learned there are no shoulds or expectations. There is only doing the next right thing, gently, kindly, graciously.

And then I fell off the trapeze and hit my head. I work in a biomedical research field. My career has been submersed in research findings, data, evidence-based best practices. We have a hypothesis, we gather data and discover things and new understandings, we publish papers about it all, we tell others, we provide treatment based on this knowledge. Except each specialist over three and a half years swears by a different theory and diagnosis, and thus a different treatment plan. And each of these specialists can provide research and data supporting this theoretical framework, diagnosis, and treatment. Wait, how is this possible it seems like no one knows what they’re talking about, or that everyone knows what they’re talking about but no ONE person is right? How is anyone supposed to get better? How am I supposed to get better? I needed a minute. Or two. Or three and a half years. I had to sit with the reality that no one really knows anything definitively, and that our knowledge and understanding of something, of everything, shifts through time and additional data points. Science may be written in sturdy textbooks, but it’s not written in stone. And so I learned there is no one right answer, and that I needed to choose what felt right in that moment in time.

And so I’m learning that a song can have more than one time signature, in fact it can have many. Tempos change, it feels odd, it feels like there are stops and starts. And as a whole, it sounds beautiful, interesting, and just the way it should. Learning how to play it can feel awkward, difficult, even painful. Learning to really live can feel awkward, difficult, even painful. But in the end, it’s just the way it should be–both music and life–and it’s beautiful and interesting. There is no one end, there’s just the next right thing. The understanding of our realities shift through time. Timing is everything.


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Full of Fear


fear, brave, courage, scared, bravery, afraid

I am full of fear. And that’s a good thing. It’s all the rage now to proclaim oneself “fearless.” I understand the sentiment behind that proclamation, but I don’t think it’s the right word. It means “free from fear, lacking fear.” A healthy dose of fear is, well, healthy. Otherwise, we’d all be completely reckless and make impulsive decisions and never learn great life lessons. And let me tell you, I was reckless and impulsive when I was younger, and I was still completely consumed by fear. Bravada about being fearless doesn’t actually take the fear away. You just ignore it and believe it doesn’t impact you, which isn’t true. We need to understand how fear drives us, how, why, when.

We need fear to guide us, to warn us, to keep us safe. We should be afraid of tigers, tornadoes, stalkers. These things will hurt us. We should be afraid of love, judgment, failure. These things will hurt us.

Does this potential for hurt mean we never go on safari, spend time outdoors when it’s cloudy, partake in online communities? No, of course not. That would make us paranoid recluses. That would make for an isolated, cold existence. These fears tell us to appreciate the majesty of tigers from afar, respect Mother Nature and head down to basements when tornado warnings are issued, and to use proper precautions online while enjoying the ability to meet people you’d otherwise never have access to. We also should not ignore our fears and play tag with tigers, run through fields during a tornado warning, or over-disclose to strangers. Otherwise, Darwin demonstrates yet again he was on to something.

Does this potential for hurt mean we should put on protective armor and be emotionally unavailable, aim for perfection, or shy away from risks? No, of course not. This would make for a lonely, boring, small life.

It is in the midst of these fears AND failures that life really happens. It’s in the falls and mistakes and messiness that real life occurs. These things WILL happen regardless of if you acknowledge the fear, if you name it, or not. People will judge you, people will condemn you, people will disappoint you. Hurts will happen. Again and again. And yes, one more time for good measure. Even when you don’t get too close to someone. Even when you try to be who people expect you to be. Even when you underachieve.

So when you find fear, you are in a place that matters. You can only be afraid of something if there’s a potential loss. This place where fear lives is a place that matters. There’s a good chance you might lose your dignity, your heart, your reputation, so don’t be fearless. You should be afraid. This fear makes you human, makes you real. Sit right there in this space. Because when you lose these things, it doesn’t mean you’re lost.

It means you’re found. The pain and hurt that accompanies losing your heart and your pride and your perceived security, that’s what makes you who you are. And who you are is someone brave and courageous. It is the brave who continue to get up every day, show up every day, to do the things that scare you. That isn’t a loss. That’s a gain.

The problem with fear is when we allow ourselves to be dictated by fear. When we say, “You’re right. I’m not good enough.” When we say, “I can’t, I just can’t bear to get hurt again like that.” When we say, “I can’t risk trying, what if I fail? What if I look like a fool?”

When we give in to these fears, when we let them control our behaviors, they control how big or small our lives are. How bright or dark our lives are. How full or empty our souls are. We think giving in to these fears keeps us safe. You’re not safe. You’re just scared. And that’s OK.

Because you can be be brave and courageous AND afraid. We can’t ignore the realities of judgments, rejection, loss. True courage is acknowledging those realities, and risking in the face of those realities. Courage is saying I am full of fear, and I am also full of life and light.

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