Self-portrait in the hall mirror: What courage looks like at my place, on an ordinary day.
When people hear that I lived in places like Afghanistan and the Gaza Strip they often tell me that they think I am very brave.
I am brave. Some days I think I may be the bravest muthafucka on the planet.
As I told some friends this morning, if you look up "courage" in my dictionary, you'll see a picture of me, resplendent in my favorite green Superhero cape.
But on an ordinary day, which means every day around these parts, courage looks less like a trip into a war-zone and more like this:
- Showing up to a yoga workshop even though I know perfectly well that this style of yoga takes me so far out of my yoga comfort-zone that I'll probably end up crying (and not the pretty kind of crying, more the gasping, snorting, snot-dripping kind).
- Accepting that my boyfriend invites his (much younger and much hotter) ex-lover to stay with us, not because it doesn't bother me but because it does bother me and I'm ready to face down those particular gremlins.
- Writing the book I've always wanted to write despite the fact that I know it will never be as good as I've always hoped it would be.
- Leading 45 people on a 30 day yoga journey despite having spent the first two hours of this morning weeping into my yoga mat (which is also green, a great colour for courage).
- Looking at my own tear-stained face in the mirror and finding something of beauty and someone to love, even when the voices in my head are all braying for blood for my failings.