‘Bravery’ is just a word I use when I’m talking about the virtues of characters in Harry Potter, or when I’m being really dramatic. Generally speaking, it is not a principle found within the boundaries of this thing I call my life. I am a weakling, and I feel comfortable admitting that. Things scare me–not just sometimes, but a lot of times. Attempting difficult tasks (running, running, and running), meeting new people, taking risks=sweaty palms, nervous stomach, and totally-freaking-out-right-now Jessica. Going through difficult circumstances=shutting down because dealing with the aftermath is scary. I am not brave, but I’m learning that my ability to try again doesn’t depend on how much bravery I’ve got stored away someplace. It just depends on my ability to get my game plan together and take a few deep breaths.
A statement like “I’m daring to try” can’t really happen without a confession on my part. Because I wouldn’t have to dare to try if I hadn’t stopped trying in the first place. And you might be wondering what in the what I’m talking about. I’ll put it this way: when your parents get a divorce and you only see one of them all the time, sometimes you just quit trying. Feeling things isn’t fun anymore. Hobbies suddenly become gloomy. And sleeping doesn’t make the tiredness go away. A what’s the point apathy can really derail everything a gal had going for her. So, she just quits and slips quietly into the nearest couch.
So, I have stopped functioning to an extent, and now it’s time to power up again–not for anyone else, but for me. Rising from the ashes, if you want to get all dramatic about it. I’ve got to get my to-do list together and start in. Today, I’m daring to try…again.