On Being Brave

What does it mean to be brave?

When we are little, the doctor asks us if we can "be brave," just for a second while he/she pricks our finger. In that situation, being brave has no repercussions. Either you sit quietly and wince as the needle stabs you, or you scream before, during and after the needle pierces your finger. It really doesn't matter. The doctor gets your blood and you get to head back to the sandbox without another thought. We don't really understand what being brave is, because at that age, we don't really have that much to lose.

As we get older, "being brave" is a little scarier. Maybe you are trying out for the dance team, calling the cute girl/boy in your class or applying to colleges. At the time, all of these events seem life altering. And while you are probably not significantly changing the trajectory of your life by deciding whether or not to enroll in the school talent show, you are learning valuable life lessons. You are learning to step out of your comfort zone, even when it is scary, and realize that YOU are going to be alright, even if things don't go the way that you were hoping.

I tried out for the basketball team in 7th grade only because my best friend did not want to try out alone. I had no business even attempting to launch a ball towards that basket, but I was brave, and made it through the first day of practice. Surprisingly, I was not invited to attend the second day of  tryouts. What I learned was, I am not a good basketball player. Sports are not my strong point, and there was no point in me pursuing a career in the WNBA. But, I also learned how it feels to be told no, and how important it is to be flexible and have a back up plan. (I was brave a lot and tried out piano, cheerleading, softball and swimming. Sometimes it takes awhile to figure out exactly which path is yours.)

There are so many phrases we throw out suggesting that being brave is an easy thing to do. "The worst thing they can say is no." "The worst thing that can happen is you don't get "it"." "What's the worst that can happen???" When we are all grown up, being brave is HARD. The worst that can happen is that you can lose your financial security, your mortgage, your family. The stakes are high and sometimes we get so wrapped up in the stakes that we forget about what we learned in middle school. If you are brave, even when it is scary, you are going to be alright.

I write this because exactly one week ago, I resigned from my job. Effective immediately. I had been struggling with this decision for months, but was so bogged down with the logistics of how we were going to pay our bills and keep our health insurance that I was scared to lose the stability of a monthly check. I was so scared to lose this that my health was beginning to suffer. I was angry, tired and stressed out, which didn't make me, or anyone around me happy. I noticed one day when I came home from work that I snapped at the dog for jumping on me because he was happy to see me. And that's just not fair. It's not fair to my husband, my pets or to me. The job I was in wasn't a good fit for ME, and somewhere along the line, I had forgotten that there are other paths to explore.

As soon as I hit send on my resignation email, I truly felt as though a weight had been lifted off of me. When I woke up the next morning, instead of stumbling to the shower and grumbling at Mike to JUST STOP TALKING, I was happy. I was singing. I was annoyingly optimistic. I had an entire day full of opportunities in front of me that had been hiding under all the fear.

I am not suggesting that you throw all caution to the wind, quit your job and figure out the plan later. Mike and I have a plan, which makes all of this just a little less scary.

So today, I challenge you to be brave.

As Sheryl Sandberg says, "What would you do if you weren't afraid?"

Ten

This morning I was sitting quietly, creating a massive to-do list for the day. My husband walked by, picked up one of my shoes and said, "What is this?"

I replied honestly, "It looks like a shoe."

Mike responded with a quick eyebrow raise, letting me know that he was choosing to ignore the sarcasm in my answer. I went back to my grocery list. Unfortunately, subtle comments were not going to be enough to dissuade this man. My husband had a point to make, and gosh darn it, he was going to make it.

"Sooo.." he said. "I've been thinking and I have an idea."
Again, my eyes shot up from my grocery list, quietly cautioning him. This sounded like a trick and I had too many things I needed to get done.

"Do you think this week we could make it a goal to take all of your shoes upstairs? I bet if you did it for one week, it might become a habit, and then the dog wouldn't eat them."

As the above photos suggest, we have had a problem with Mags gnawing on Every. Single. Pair of my shoes. (Never of Mike's.) When I come home and see my new Target wedges torn to shreds, I get upset (and also wonder when we will actually have to pay to get the dog's stomach pumped.) 

During the first few ruined pairs, Mike was empathetic. He told me he was sorry that my shoes were destroyed, but also managed to slip in a little PSA about cleaning up after myself. Now we skip right to the lecture about how if I put my shoes away, they wouldn't be attacked as chew toys and left in a sad pile, never to be worn again (despite my best efforts with duct tape and a stapler.)

I sighed, and started to protest, but ended up nodding. "Alright" I said, shocking both Mike and myself. "Will do." Mike quickly said, "thanks" and crept out of the room before I changed my mind.

Here's the secret. Ten years ago today, my life changed in a really big way. For FOUR DAYS I had agonized about whether the cute boy I met that Friday night was really going to call. He had promised he would. He got my phone number. We had danced. And laughed. And he read BOOKS. He was perfect.

At the time I was living with three other girls and they did just as they were supposed to. They assured me that this boy didn't want to look too eager... he was busy...it was a football weekend. But  I was starting to give up hope. Maybe I had accidentally given him the wrong number...should I try to contact his friend to see if the number was right? Craziness was on the horizon.

To prevent my picture from appearing as a wanted stalker on the 10:00 news, my best friend dragged me out of the house for a run. We came back and I heard a horribly annoying beeping coming from my room. My cell phone was screeching, alerting me of a missed call. (At that time, phones weren't so smart, and I don't know if it even had a silence button.) I ran to the room thinking, "Please don't let this be my mother. PLEASE for the LOVE of  GOD don't let this be my mother!"

I dialed my voicemail and a deep, slightly nervous voice started talking. "Um. Hey Jenny. This is Mike. From Friday night? I ...I was going to call you last night, but I fell asleep....Anyway, I wanted to see if you would be interested in getting together later on this week...you know if you're not busy....or whatever....ok. Give me a call. Talk to you later....if you want...."  Click.

I did what every other 23 year old who has waited for days on a cute boy to call would do. I ran through the house screaming, "HE CALLED! HE CALLED!" And then I did a little dance. Then I waited the requisite 30 minutes to call him back (just so I didn't look like I had nothing going on) and we planned to meet for dinner on Thursday. I chose a Mexican restaurant, ordered queso and a Gordito Burrito. Mike said, "I honestly can't believe you ate all that food."

The rest is history. Not all rainbows and butterflies history, but good history. We have learned and loved and changed together, and I am learning that I am not very good about putting up my stuff. So today, before I go to the grocery store and make an attempt to vacuum up all the pet hair, I am going to put my shoes up. And hope that every day I am able to make Mike as happy as I was the night I checked my messages ten years ago.

Hope you had a wonderful weekend.