Someone whose opinion matters to me told me the other week that I was a courageous person.  I don't know if you can imagine the look of disbelief that crossed my face.  "Who, me?  You've got to be kidding."  But, no, emphatically that person was not kidding and they repeated the comment with passion and vigor.  I let it slide because, well, one doesn't argue those kinds of points but I couldn't let it go. Brave? How can that be? I'm an unremarkable human being doing what ordinary people do and where's the bravery in that?  It kept gnawing at me so I started researching the word courage and I learned a lot.

I learned that many social scientists believe that courage is a built in human quality.  Everyone has courage but in varying degrees and not necessarily of the same type.  When I thought about it, that made sense.  Let's face it, walking out the door every morning takes some courage.  Getting out of bed takes courage. It can be brave just to approach the people with whom you live and it can be brave to live alone.  The fundamental definition of courage is that courage is the choice and the willingness to face the uncomfortable.  That could mean facing  physical pain or withstanding emotional discomfort.  It might mean meeting the potential sting of social encounters or tough decisions,  or accepting the irritation of intellectual challenge. It could also refer to  the anguish of grappling with questions of faith, purpose, or meaning  (whether in a religious or non-religious context).  Clearly, fortitude is required of human beings. Perhaps some people have more or different reserves of bravery than other people but we all must have a certain amount just to continue to exist.

In light of my research, I had to go back and think about my reaction to that comment that I was a courageous person.  Was that person's observation true?  I looked over all those possible applications for courage and realized that, yes, I had demonstrated courage in my life.  I started to think of examples and was surprised at what I discovered. Just for the heck of it, here are a few illustrations of my courage:

• I chose to bring children into the world.
• I don't object to looking at death and its impact on life.
• I talk to strangers.
• I call tech support when the internet or my computer or phone are misbehaving.
• I have moved forward with too many surgeries.
• I can initiate tough conversations with people I love.
• I have set out on bicycle expeditions that were challenging.
• I started going to a yoga class where I was an absolute beginner among more experienced yoga students (and I have continued going for over three years).
• I leapt into a graduate program on a whim and a prayer.
• I am willing to look closely at my own life and take responsibility for decisions made.
• I adopted a puppy from the Humane Society.
• I walked out of  the work world and stepped into the world of the lost and aimless.
• I write blog posts that are sometimes painfully honest and way too personal.
• I get up every morning even though I am scared of what is happening in the world these days.
• Occasionally I tell someone what is really going on with me.
• I drive alone to visit siblings in other counties.
• From time to time, I travel by airplane.
• I spent hours with my mother as she faded out in her last year of life on Earth.
• I walk alone before dawn in the neighborhood every morning.
• I read books that are hard to understand.
• I live with uncertainty.

You get the point, right?  I am confident that most people could come up with comparable lists for their own lives.  My bravery is not your bravery but we all live courageous lives.  Then why did I react to that comment about my courage in the way that I did?  I think because I don't believe I have enough courage. Yes, I am brave but I could be even more brave.  I imagine all these adventures I want to have - adventures that involve air travel and urban experiences and congestion and uncertainty and suddenly the curtain drops on the plan. Courage leaves the stage and I go with her.  Or I imagine social outings or novel ways to spend a weekend and, again, the curtain drops and I fold.  I think about driving across the country for my niece's wedding next summer and I think, "How cool!" but then I immediately feel the anxiety close in on me.  Self doubt takes over and I just know that I could never do that.  I could not deal with the uncertainty, the novelty, the decisions, the frustrations.  It's not even that I think of disasters so much as I think of loneliness and fear of being in the world on my own.  It's scary.  Too scary.  Last year I considered a trip to Vietnam and that's exactly what happened. When it came right down to giving that credit card number to the agency, I shut down and put the whole idea away in a suitcase that I can't open. Too scary.

Funny thing is that I have done a solo road trip.  It was less than a week and it was only once but I did it.  Once upon a time, I also did six weeks of an entirely solo summer college experience.  It was one of those things that you do in the summer in college.  I drove to an unfamiliar campus with almost no money and I managed to sign into and attend a six week workshop where I didn't know anyone and, going into it, I had no accommodations lined up.  How is it that 23 year old me could do that but 60+ year old me can't imagine enjoying a solitary road trip?  Truth be told, 23 year old me did not fully enjoy those six weeks.  No, as I recall there were some pretty miserable moments but there were also some delightful memories.  Out of that summer, however, came growth and expansion of self. I became so much more than I was by that act of courage.

You know,  I was pretty brave back in the day.  I could give you a long list of bold behaviors from my late teens and twenties.  What happened? Where did that brave soul go?  Wait a minute.  She is still here.  Look at the list above if you don't believe me.  Maybe the world has also changed in the last forty years.  Maybe it IS a more scary place.  Or maybe I have gotten more cautious.  Maybe I am trying to talk myself into adventures that don't really work for me anymore. I don't know. The whole thing makes me sad.  Sad for what used to be, sad for not being more than what I am, sad for seeing my inadequacies.  And full circle then to courage.  I do have the courage to look at my behaviors, to examine my life, to question my choices, to feel the feelings (even the hard ones), to wonder if there is more to life than what I know.  I have the courage to live in mystery, to not understand why things are the way they are, to be curious about the unknown, to live the questions. Is that enough courage? I don't know.

*The quote below is from F. Scott Fitzgerald.