brave

I write a list of times that I’ve been brave.  I almost don’t write the list because I’m afraid I won’t have anything to write.  But, in a moment of bravery, I put pen to page.  I write one thing and then another and then another.  I fill the page.  Maybe I’m brave after all.

Early in the week, there is a dusting of snow, a white ocean on which the day seems to float. Later in the week, there is drizzle and mist, and the day presses into grey quietude.  Regardless of weather, regardless of floating or pressing or just-getting-by, the birds come to the feeder. Blue jays, cardinals, purple finches, woodpeckers.  Present, fluid, colorful, alive.  Them, me.

She writes about aspects of the divine for her mythology class.  Just as she comes to show me her essay, I have typed the word divine.  Is this some kind of divine timing, for her to bring me her thoughts at the very moment mine were floating on a parallel path?  I think maybe.  Who’s to say the divine is always grand?  Maybe it’s as simple as synchronicity, maybe it’s as simple as a red cardinal against a backdrop of white snow, maybe it’s as simple as steam curling from tea.

Bravery and divinity are big thoughts in medium-sized words during a little week—the end of one month, the beginning of another, a new moon, a portal.  What wants to come in, what wants to go out?  Big questions for little me.  I keep asking, I keep listening, I keep trying to be brave.  I am mesmerized by steam and finches and oceans of white, floating, pressing, becoming.

I now see that owning our story and loving ourselves through that process is the bravest thing that we will ever do.
~ Brené Brown ~

P.S. I've got 2 spots no spots left in the LIVE class of The Quiet Page, Wednesday, February 16. BUT you're in luck! You can still enjoy the digital package I've created especially for you!
Hop over here for details.