I’ve always liked to think that there are innumerable categories for being fearless. The fearlessness of being by the side of a loved one who is dying. The fearlessness of holding your tongue when you know what you will say will cause falling domino damage. The fearlessness of making small talk when everything in your chest and belly wants to shut down and run. The fearlessness of saying no when you think you most certainly must say yes. The fearlessness of following that one brilliant thought to its fruition, knowing that once you arrive at its destination, things will be different.
I follow my fearlessness with a wavering certainty that keeps me lifting the weights of my own delusions. This, I tell myself, is the bravest thing of all. To do those things that I think are impossible to do. Be open, let go, not assume, release taking things personally—all of these things are the most seemingly simple yet, if I were to admit it, are the most daunting in my every day life.
I’ve worked hard and long to wrangle my fears and bury them until they are sleeping but I’ve come to the conclusion that, in the process of my convoluted battle, I am becoming immeasurably brave.
Yours In Slaying Demons,