"When we were kids, our parents taught us to meditate. They said 'Sit down and shut up!'" ~ unknown
Raising kids to become responsible, well-adjusted adults is pretty tricky business I think. As the mother of two teenagers, I feel sometimes like I am flailing about in unknown waters as I throw life preservers at my kids. How in the world do you nurture a sense of adventure in your children when what is most important is to protect them from harm? I decided long ago that sharing this world with my children means exposing them not only to its beauty, but also to its unsavory side...there seems no way around it.
During summers when I was a kid, my parents would take us down to the lake for a swim before bed. It meant crossing a road, so we were shepherded from the house by Mom and Dad - an unholy trio of hot kids who couldn't wait to be "the first one in." I remember one night I ran ahead, bound and determined to be the first one to the dock. My father yelled "stop" and so I did...in the middle of the road. "Did you look?" he asked. I looked in both directions and promptly replied, "Yes." "Lookit here...the only thing you're gonna see is the colour of the car that hits you." Then it hit me. Not a car...but that first feeling of vulnerability...mortality. It was a lesson, albeit a brief one, but I still remember it and - well - I couldn't tell you what I ate for lunch last Tuesday so...let's just say it stuck.
We all agree, we don't want to scare our kids, we just want them to be aware. The world needs risk-takers not martyrs and certainly not more fools. It takes courage to know when the risk outweighs the reward and the world needs heroes so we do our best to help our kids calculate risks and then attack life with purpose and clarity and confidence. We hold our breath as they test the waters and hope they survive each and every lesson as they become more practised at managing their own risks. But they are kids, and they are human, and they make mistakes.
Accidents are just that...heartbreaking tragedies that steal and cheat time away from families and friends and futures. There are no reasons to be found...no villains...no dark motives. Just a sad absence that bores its way into the community that loses a life unlived.
Too many young lives end in so many preventable ways but this one...Ben Rogers...hits home. It wasn't misadventure. It was a choice that, under different circumstances would be applauded as a responsible one. I would have done the same thing...I would have walked.
My kids were talking about Ben and, while I normally offer my opinions I could not offer anything of substance...no deeper insight or understanding. No advice. Nothing. I felt only a tightening in my chest and realized I was holding my breath.
Wednesday, July 27
Saturday, July 23
Grandma's Little Red Book
I was thinking today of my Grandma. When she passed, a small red book came to be in my care. It is a collection of pages written in the careful penmanship of someone who spent a lifetime scrolling letters across an expansive blackboard. Careful letters canting to the right in a lazy, lovely flow of captured versus. She wrote in this book, quotes and captions that held some secret meaning for her...a cautionary tale, a life lesson or maybe just something to read when she needed to change her perspective. It's too late to ask her why she selected the passages; I can now only imagine why or how she chose each and every one.
On days like today when I wish I could curl back up into her lap like I did when I was young, I get instead to flip through the pages and remember her through her handwriting. I remember being young, sitting on her lap. I remember the way it felt when she ran her fingers through my hair as I leaned back into her. I remember her smell, her voice, her benevolence...the peace I felt curled there in her care.
The words of Taylor Caldwell, Piet Hein, Peter Marshall, Winston Churchill, Euripides and ...wait for it... Led Zeppelin...among others.
"Life itself can't give you joy unless you really will it. Life just gives you time and space. It's up to you to fill it." The Mountain Bar
"The first thing that popped into my head was the last thing I should've said." Unknown
"The reason that worry kills more people than work is that more people worry."
"Use the talents you possess for the woods would be very silent if no birds sang but the very best."
"Those who bring sunshine to the lives of others cannot keep it from themselves." Sir James Barrie
"A girl who thinks she is too good for any man may be right -- but she may be left."
On days like today when I wish I could curl back up into her lap like I did when I was young, I get instead to flip through the pages and remember her through her handwriting. I remember being young, sitting on her lap. I remember the way it felt when she ran her fingers through my hair as I leaned back into her. I remember her smell, her voice, her benevolence...the peace I felt curled there in her care.
The words of Taylor Caldwell, Piet Hein, Peter Marshall, Winston Churchill, Euripides and ...wait for it... Led Zeppelin...among others.
"Life itself can't give you joy unless you really will it. Life just gives you time and space. It's up to you to fill it." The Mountain Bar
"The first thing that popped into my head was the last thing I should've said." Unknown
"The reason that worry kills more people than work is that more people worry."
"Use the talents you possess for the woods would be very silent if no birds sang but the very best."
"Those who bring sunshine to the lives of others cannot keep it from themselves." Sir James Barrie
"A girl who thinks she is too good for any man may be right -- but she may be left."
Monday, July 4
A Clockwork Orange
It's been said that one man's trash is another man's treasure. Well, our dump has this incredibly popular re-use centre. Locals can donate unwanted items that haven't quite reached throw-away condition.
An entire section of the centre is devoted to books. Not surprising really. Have you ever seen anyone throw out a book. Even a poorly written one. People just don't finish a book, close it up and say..."Man, that sucked," and toss it in the trash. It just doesn't happen. And so I discovered A Clockwork Orange.
I was skimming through the titles trying to find a book that I thought I might like when I came across A Clockwork Orange. In high school, I wrote an essay on censorship and I remember the title from my assignment. In fact, when I come across a book that was (at least at one time) censored, I usually try and snap it up. Just in case. Besides, I L-O-V-E to read. Love, Love, Love.
Imagine my surprise then, when I opened the book to read the author's introduction titled, "A Clockwork Orange Resucked." The author basically dedicates 7 pages to denouncing the public for their fascination with the story when "other works of mine that I value more bite the dust." In the end, as with so many other literary works, the film version rocketed the story to the cult-following that it continues to enjoy. Thanks Stanley Kubrick.
Part one identifies the main character as the storyteller and then he says..."Our pockets were full of deng, so there was no real need from the point of view of crasting any more pretty polly to tolchock some old veck in an alley and viddy him swim in his blood while we counted the takings and divided by four, nor to do the ultra-violent on some shivering starry grey-haired ptitsa in a shop and go smecking off with the till's guts."
Huh?
I'm sorry. What did you say?
I made it a point to find out exactly what I was up against so I did a little homework and found out that the novel is set in 1962 England. To add a little atmosphere, the author created his own language called Nadsat which is a combination of Cockney, Polary and Russian slang.
Eeeeesh!
I trudged through it. I found the meaning behind the title and then suffered through the "rehabilitation" of the leading character. It was like taking medicine...you just do it because you absolutely have to. Unfortunately it became my literary equivalent to daily doses of Buckley's.
I cannot even fabricate a level of sophistication where I pretend to understand or appreciate the book. I am, in fact, so annoyed that I lost hours of precious time reading it, that I hope never to encounter a poor pretentious ass who takes it upon him/herself to exalt the groundbreaking qualities of this novel to me. Note to self: Common etiquette says not to talk about politics, sex, religion or money, or A Clockwork Orange.
So friends, this will serve as a warning to you to spare yourself the grief of labouring through this book. For those of you who want to decide for yourself whether or not it is worth the pain, I will be returning my copy to the reuse centre this weekend. Judge for yourself.
Wednesday, May 25
Rapture Rescheduled
Did anyone else find it a little strange that the rapture was predicted to occur at the kick off of this year's network season finales? Clever really. Did Harold Camping doze off in front of the TV one night recently and wake up with this doomsday epiphany? He says, of course, that the date was chosen after lengthy computations and a lifetime devotion to theology but...the subconscious is so malleable...I wonder.
I met a preacher once that said the Bible was a collection of stories with lessons in morality and honor...not a history book. I wonder what the preacher is thinking about all this talk of rapture. I doubt that the suitcases were packed and waiting by the door Saturday morning. Nor do I think they will be on October 21st.
My message to Harold...
You can try to terrify the world into becoming believers Harold, but you will find that the hoards of followers are back-sliding hypocrites greedy to follow you only for the prize of salvation. Having a relationship with God isn't about paying tithes to a religious organization or even about attending church every week. It's not about confessing sins to shrouded clergy in quiet confessionals or about surrendering our belongings in vows of poverty. It is NOT about appeasing a wrathful deity.
Finding God is about finding our way to a life that serves others...whether that is a child, a spouse, a friend, our family, or people who need something that we have to offer. It's about finding honor and nobility and dignity in the every day. It is understanding that every one of us has an authentic purpose to fulfill. Even you Harold. You have single-handedly raised the profile of religion if only through your fanaticism and, sadly, if only briefly.
Genesis 3:22 - And the LORD God said, Behold, the man is become as one of us, to know good and evil: and now, lest he put forth his hand, and take also of the tree of life, and eat, and live for ever.
See Harold..good AND evil. We are all human. We are all fallible. We all have the capacity to behave well and the capacity to behave badly and...generally speaking...most of us behave well...most of the time.
And see that last part Harold, "and live for ever..." What if that means we're here to stay? Not us individuals, of course...but as a part of the world...like the mountains and the oceans. How about we decide to live our best lives even if we only do that because it will mean a better world for the people that come after us? How about we stop looking for hidden meanings to serve as a prophesy for the end of the world, and start looking for reasons to protect it? How about we do that Harold?
We won't be renewing your contract; your show won't be picked up this Fall. This was your last finale Harold.
I met a preacher once that said the Bible was a collection of stories with lessons in morality and honor...not a history book. I wonder what the preacher is thinking about all this talk of rapture. I doubt that the suitcases were packed and waiting by the door Saturday morning. Nor do I think they will be on October 21st.
My message to Harold...
You can try to terrify the world into becoming believers Harold, but you will find that the hoards of followers are back-sliding hypocrites greedy to follow you only for the prize of salvation. Having a relationship with God isn't about paying tithes to a religious organization or even about attending church every week. It's not about confessing sins to shrouded clergy in quiet confessionals or about surrendering our belongings in vows of poverty. It is NOT about appeasing a wrathful deity.
Finding God is about finding our way to a life that serves others...whether that is a child, a spouse, a friend, our family, or people who need something that we have to offer. It's about finding honor and nobility and dignity in the every day. It is understanding that every one of us has an authentic purpose to fulfill. Even you Harold. You have single-handedly raised the profile of religion if only through your fanaticism and, sadly, if only briefly.
Genesis 3:22 - And the LORD God said, Behold, the man is become as one of us, to know good and evil: and now, lest he put forth his hand, and take also of the tree of life, and eat, and live for ever.
See Harold..good AND evil. We are all human. We are all fallible. We all have the capacity to behave well and the capacity to behave badly and...generally speaking...most of us behave well...most of the time.
And see that last part Harold, "and live for ever..." What if that means we're here to stay? Not us individuals, of course...but as a part of the world...like the mountains and the oceans. How about we decide to live our best lives even if we only do that because it will mean a better world for the people that come after us? How about we stop looking for hidden meanings to serve as a prophesy for the end of the world, and start looking for reasons to protect it? How about we do that Harold?
We won't be renewing your contract; your show won't be picked up this Fall. This was your last finale Harold.
Please, please, please tell me that you are glad you were wrong.
Tuesday, April 26
Going Off Half-Cocked
Years ago, I fell in love with language and words. It never ceases to amaze me how "the right word" can capture at once an emotion or an idea that would otherwise be lost. Fact is, English is much like our brain...you can easily function using just a fraction of its true capacity. It happens. All the time.
Admittedly, I have, over the years, become a bit of a "language snob." Ask my best friend. She will testify. I remember hours before meeting someone very special in her life, she turned to me and cautioned..."Do NOT correct him." Ok. Fair enough. Besides, if the worst thing that happens in my day, is that I am forced to read an email littered with the misuse of "they're," "their," or "there," I'm having a pretty great day. That said, there are a few phrases that make me NUTS and this is my soapbox so ....
Please, please, please, let's consider archiving some over-used, mis-used, ridiculous, tired phrases. For instance:
"True Dat"
If you have not produced or performed on a recording that went platinum in the last 3 years, you are prohibited from using this slang phrase. That's our new rule.
"Oh Em Gee" (OMG)
N. O. The beautiful thing about communicating in the 21st century is the variety of methods available to exchange words with our fellow man but...please...pick one...and let's not blur the lines.
"Hate the player, not the game."
Actually, I reserve the right to hate both. If there is no player, there is no game and if you fail to find the truth in that, then you are a worthy target of my loathing.
"I ride shotgun."
Look kids, I grew up in hicksville. Shotguns "ride" suspended in racks in the rear window of a rusted old pickup truck. Does that sound like a comfortable mode of transportation to you? Try, "I ride smelly hunting dog with muddy feet." Still sound cool to you?
"Get off your high horse."
If we need an equine reference to get our point across, how about quietly whispering to the offender..."Stop talking, you sound like a jackass."
"Don't shoot the messenger."
No? Well then...would you be open to a beating?
"Can I play devil's advocate?"
Sure. Let's begin. You go to hell.
"If it ain't broke, don't fix it."
It astonishes me that humanity found itself at a place in its history where this tidbit of advice would be a necessary addition to the English language.
"Going to hell in a handbasket."
Honestly...given the destination...do we truly believe that how we get there is going to account for what is bound to be uncomfortable trip?
"Let there be light."
It was cute when God said it but...really...you changed a lightbulb...can we just leave it at that?
"A picture is worth a thousand words."
So you mean to tell me that at this year's Christmas Party when the boss is handing out bonuses by way of short stories or Chagall you will actually struggle under the weight of the decision? I thought so. Let me grab my hammer.
"It's not rocket science."
No...it isn't. It also isn't brain surgery, air traffic control, facial reconstruction or nuclear disarmament but it is freaking hard and I'm struggling here so please...spare me.
"If you can't stand the heat, get out of the kitchen."
Might I also suggest that you avoid furnace rooms, saunas, blacksmith shops, tire fires, the entire month of August, and various travel destinations that litter the equator.
"Paint the town red."
If you must. But take a spray-can. And don't get caught.
"You can lead a horse to water, but you can't make it drink."
No you can't. Just ask PETA.
"It's not over 'til the fat lady sings."
Yet sadly...it ends...and often in oppressive silence.
I could go on. Push the envelope. Run amok...to coin a phrase. I feel better having vented. Turned out today's blog was probably nothing more than just a flash in the pan. I hope you don't think I'm barking mad.
They say that English is one of the most difficult languages to learn. Hmmmm. Wonder why.
Admittedly, I have, over the years, become a bit of a "language snob." Ask my best friend. She will testify. I remember hours before meeting someone very special in her life, she turned to me and cautioned..."Do NOT correct him." Ok. Fair enough. Besides, if the worst thing that happens in my day, is that I am forced to read an email littered with the misuse of "they're," "their," or "there," I'm having a pretty great day. That said, there are a few phrases that make me NUTS and this is my soapbox so ....
Please, please, please, let's consider archiving some over-used, mis-used, ridiculous, tired phrases. For instance:
"True Dat"
If you have not produced or performed on a recording that went platinum in the last 3 years, you are prohibited from using this slang phrase. That's our new rule.
"Oh Em Gee" (OMG)
N. O. The beautiful thing about communicating in the 21st century is the variety of methods available to exchange words with our fellow man but...please...pick one...and let's not blur the lines.
"Hate the player, not the game."
Actually, I reserve the right to hate both. If there is no player, there is no game and if you fail to find the truth in that, then you are a worthy target of my loathing.
"I ride shotgun."
Look kids, I grew up in hicksville. Shotguns "ride" suspended in racks in the rear window of a rusted old pickup truck. Does that sound like a comfortable mode of transportation to you? Try, "I ride smelly hunting dog with muddy feet." Still sound cool to you?
"Get off your high horse."
If we need an equine reference to get our point across, how about quietly whispering to the offender..."Stop talking, you sound like a jackass."
"Don't shoot the messenger."
No? Well then...would you be open to a beating?
"Can I play devil's advocate?"
Sure. Let's begin. You go to hell.
"If it ain't broke, don't fix it."
It astonishes me that humanity found itself at a place in its history where this tidbit of advice would be a necessary addition to the English language.
"Going to hell in a handbasket."
Honestly...given the destination...do we truly believe that how we get there is going to account for what is bound to be uncomfortable trip?
"Let there be light."
It was cute when God said it but...really...you changed a lightbulb...can we just leave it at that?
"A picture is worth a thousand words."
So you mean to tell me that at this year's Christmas Party when the boss is handing out bonuses by way of short stories or Chagall you will actually struggle under the weight of the decision? I thought so. Let me grab my hammer.
"It's not rocket science."
No...it isn't. It also isn't brain surgery, air traffic control, facial reconstruction or nuclear disarmament but it is freaking hard and I'm struggling here so please...spare me.
"If you can't stand the heat, get out of the kitchen."
Might I also suggest that you avoid furnace rooms, saunas, blacksmith shops, tire fires, the entire month of August, and various travel destinations that litter the equator.
"Paint the town red."
If you must. But take a spray-can. And don't get caught.
"You can lead a horse to water, but you can't make it drink."
No you can't. Just ask PETA.
"It's not over 'til the fat lady sings."
Yet sadly...it ends...and often in oppressive silence.
I could go on. Push the envelope. Run amok...to coin a phrase. I feel better having vented. Turned out today's blog was probably nothing more than just a flash in the pan. I hope you don't think I'm barking mad.
They say that English is one of the most difficult languages to learn. Hmmmm. Wonder why.
Saturday, April 23
The Royal Wedding
As much as I do wish William and Kate the very best in their future together, I won't be tuning in for their wedding. In all fairness, they did not attend mine...nor did they request a copy of the video. Let's face it...should we meet one day in the future...we can all avoid a terribly awkward moment if I simply tune out next Friday and give them the privacy that they deserve during such a sacred event.
I won't buy the commemorative plate. I never understood that anyway. What do you do with a decorative plate? I'm too pragmatic to hang it on the wall and...well, imagine serving desserts with that plate and finding William there, at the end of the evening, a mess of crumbs and icing sugar.
I won't spring for the poster. The last poster I bought was Eric Estrada dressed in his CHiPs uniform and he served as sentry at the doorway to my bedroom. I was about 10-years old. He kept the bogeyman away...and boys...and all the cool girls that, I'm sure, would otherwise have loved to hang out with me.
I promise not to buy a knock-off version of the engagement ring. It's too showy and...well...I've never been about the bling. Sorry...my mistake. I misspoke. It's not a knock-off...it's a replica. A replica.
While I initially fell in love with the idea of Kate and William's charitable gift fund...it is unlikely that I will donate in their name. No offense Bill & Kate but I need the tax credit in a way that you will NEVER understand.
By the way, I hate to be a killjoy but...for those of you so inclined...be sure to read the small print before you write a cheque to the gift fund. It says:
Distribution of the Fund will be at the sole discretion
of the Trustees guided by the preferences registered by donors.
I am not, nor have I ever been, the trustee of a Charitable Foundation, however I did pass English and what I read here is (and I paraphrase)...
"Thank you for your donation. We appreciate you taking the time to suggest where you would like us to direct your funds but we have bills, and so your funds will be used to pay for items including, but not limited to, the following:
- early morning trips to Starbucks for a round of half-caf lattes to be distributed freely amongst administrative staff;
- performance and incentive fees for the manager of our hedge fund...er...um...I mean, our charitable foundation investment portfolio;
- paperclips, staples, postage stamps and the really cool multi-coloured post it notes that employees keep stealing from the supply closet;
- a new foosball table for the break room;
- pizza-Fridays; and,
- Snapple."
I wish I had never seen that line at the bottom of the web page. It unleashed the cynic in me.
What's more...I realize that, while I am free to express my views here in blog-world, I am at risk of offending the loyal followers of the royal family and, let's face it, that group has got to include some obsessive members...of the John Hinckley Jr. variety.
That said, come if you must obsessive royal fan, to keep me from tarnishing the image you worship, but please...
...bring Snapple.
I won't buy the commemorative plate. I never understood that anyway. What do you do with a decorative plate? I'm too pragmatic to hang it on the wall and...well, imagine serving desserts with that plate and finding William there, at the end of the evening, a mess of crumbs and icing sugar.
I won't spring for the poster. The last poster I bought was Eric Estrada dressed in his CHiPs uniform and he served as sentry at the doorway to my bedroom. I was about 10-years old. He kept the bogeyman away...and boys...and all the cool girls that, I'm sure, would otherwise have loved to hang out with me.
I promise not to buy a knock-off version of the engagement ring. It's too showy and...well...I've never been about the bling. Sorry...my mistake. I misspoke. It's not a knock-off...it's a replica. A replica.
While I initially fell in love with the idea of Kate and William's charitable gift fund...it is unlikely that I will donate in their name. No offense Bill & Kate but I need the tax credit in a way that you will NEVER understand.
By the way, I hate to be a killjoy but...for those of you so inclined...be sure to read the small print before you write a cheque to the gift fund. It says:
Distribution of the Fund will be at the sole discretion
of the Trustees guided by the preferences registered by donors.
I am not, nor have I ever been, the trustee of a Charitable Foundation, however I did pass English and what I read here is (and I paraphrase)...
"Thank you for your donation. We appreciate you taking the time to suggest where you would like us to direct your funds but we have bills, and so your funds will be used to pay for items including, but not limited to, the following:
- early morning trips to Starbucks for a round of half-caf lattes to be distributed freely amongst administrative staff;
- performance and incentive fees for the manager of our hedge fund...er...um...I mean, our charitable foundation investment portfolio;
- paperclips, staples, postage stamps and the really cool multi-coloured post it notes that employees keep stealing from the supply closet;
- a new foosball table for the break room;
- pizza-Fridays; and,
- Snapple."
I wish I had never seen that line at the bottom of the web page. It unleashed the cynic in me.
What's more...I realize that, while I am free to express my views here in blog-world, I am at risk of offending the loyal followers of the royal family and, let's face it, that group has got to include some obsessive members...of the John Hinckley Jr. variety.
That said, come if you must obsessive royal fan, to keep me from tarnishing the image you worship, but please...
...bring Snapple.
Friday, April 22
On Friendship
Be courteous to all, but intimate with few, and let those few be well tried before you give them your confidence. True friendship is a plant of slow growth, and must undergo and withstand the shocks of adversity before it is entitled to the appellation. - George Washington (1732 - 1799)
In the sandbox of preschools, friendship blossoms over shared toys or from a simple, tentative smile. In elementary schools, our friendships are found in common interests and goals...no matter how simple. In high school, friendships are strengthened or severed by the strain of academic achievement and new relationships that teach and transform us. And...after that...we fight to protect and preserve the friendships that survived years of change and growth and distance because inside that friendship lies the person we were, we are, we will be.
Some say that when two friends meet after a period of absence, they pick up where they left off as easily as they would resume a conversation interrupted by a brief pause. I suppose then, that a true friend is like a member of our family that came to be a part of our lives not by birthright, but by accepting and supporting us as surely and completely as a parent or a sibling.
We don't have to be perfect to be a perfect friend but friendship in and of itself is perfection. An organic affiliation that protects and promotes the needs of two people with unyielding reciprocity.
In the sandbox of preschools, friendship blossoms over shared toys or from a simple, tentative smile. In elementary schools, our friendships are found in common interests and goals...no matter how simple. In high school, friendships are strengthened or severed by the strain of academic achievement and new relationships that teach and transform us. And...after that...we fight to protect and preserve the friendships that survived years of change and growth and distance because inside that friendship lies the person we were, we are, we will be.
Some say that when two friends meet after a period of absence, they pick up where they left off as easily as they would resume a conversation interrupted by a brief pause. I suppose then, that a true friend is like a member of our family that came to be a part of our lives not by birthright, but by accepting and supporting us as surely and completely as a parent or a sibling.
We don't have to be perfect to be a perfect friend but friendship in and of itself is perfection. An organic affiliation that protects and promotes the needs of two people with unyielding reciprocity.
Anything...
Anytime...
No questions asked...
No explanation necessary...
...because that's what family is. It's the tie that binds. Either by design or default...our friends are the family we chose.
Wednesday, April 20
On Courage
I wanted you to see what real courage is, instead of getting the idea that courage is a man with a gun in his hand. It's when you know you're licked before you begin but you begin anyway and you see it through no matter what. - Harper Lee (1926 - ), To Kill a Mockingbird, 1960
Courage, I think, may be found in the silent pep talks we have with ourselves in the bathroom mirror after we wipe away the fog and search to find clarity in the eyes that gaze back at us. It is the quiet words of encouragement we speak beneath our breath when we say, "you can do this" or "it's OK" as we summon the strength to do something that we have been avoiding..or something that scares us. It is found in the quiet victories claimed in the promises we make to ourselves...the ones that we keep...the ones that we don't share with the rest of the world.
Courage, I think, may be found in the silent pep talks we have with ourselves in the bathroom mirror after we wipe away the fog and search to find clarity in the eyes that gaze back at us. It is the quiet words of encouragement we speak beneath our breath when we say, "you can do this" or "it's OK" as we summon the strength to do something that we have been avoiding..or something that scares us. It is found in the quiet victories claimed in the promises we make to ourselves...the ones that we keep...the ones that we don't share with the rest of the world.
Regardless of whether our courage is authentic or an act...it changes us and the way we move through our world. Some say that courage is about being afraid but being the only one in the room that knows it. Perhaps that is why our courage feels sometimes like an ill-fitting shirt -- choking us a little, too tight in the chest, uncomfortable -- but we put it on and move forward because without it we are naked and vulnerable and...eventually...we find comfort in the fit.
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