Happy Tuesday to you.
I woke up at 5:30am this morning eager to complete a few photo projects I have been working on. I poured a cup of coffee, topped it off with almond milk, put Layla in my lap and got to work. Processing images is one of my favorite things to do. It never feels like work. There is always something beautiful to find and, oftentimes, it’s in a picture that you would least expect it to be. I love the discovery and I love every detail. There is magic to be found every where, e-v-e-r-y w-h-e-re.
After a Lightroom extravaganza, I took a break and began searching for poems about bravery. I assume getting older helps us get to the bottom of exactly what we need to be more of and less of with regards to our character and relationships. Or, perhaps it takes you having an aha moment versus someone telling you. I have been focusing on these things a lot lately and would like to start with bravery today. Bravery to me is being exactly who you are and disregarding other people’s perceptions of you. Bravery is the courage to walk boldly into uncomfortable circumstances, to question all things you want to question, to replace anger, disappointment, and pain with genuine compassion. “Bravery is embracing the fear of the unknown and trusting that your life is on the right course,” (Marsha Filia). Bravery is liberation.
Example: Recently, I had an opportunity to be true to myself and people that I care about. I ceased the moment, with butterflies and worry, and explained how I truly felt about a situation. In response, my feelings were well received and respected. In the moment, it called for bravery. In the end, if I had been brave enough to confront the issue months ago, so much time wouldn’t have been lost.
I found a beautiful poem from one of my favorites and it reminds me so much of Arjuna from the Gita. I suppose this might be the most cozy way to end another grey fall day in Ohio. What is bravery to you?
“We never know how high we are
Till we are called to rise;
And then, if we are true to plan,
Our statures touch the skies.
The heroism we recite
Would be a daily thing,
Did not ourselves the cubits warp
For fear to be a king.”
― Emily Dickinson