Brave, Braver, Bravest by Nicholas

I’m not a big fan of reality. Especially when it intrudes on my preferred and prolonged dream state that I like to call my life. I know there are seasons to life and, as Ecclesiastes says, a time for everything.  

Given my reluctance to face reality, it’s understandable that I do not see myself as a brave person. My husband and I have a saying about facing unpleasant situations and tasks. We joke about grabbing the bull by the tail and facing the situation head on. Bravery is mostly just not ducking when you really want to. 

I remember my first trip to Europe when I joined the backpack brigades of young Americans hitchhiking through foreign lands. The wheels of the plane were barely off the runway in Cleveland when the doubts popped up as I headed for Ireland, the first stop on my fairly loosely planned six week jaunt. I sank back in my seat in complete dismay and anxiety, saying to myself, what am I doing here? 

Well, I don’t know if that constituted any act of bravery on my part since I couldn’t really do anything about it like say, hey, can you stop the plane, I changed my mind, this is too scary. I don’t even speak the language of where I’m going. But I went on. The trip turned out to be a mix of fascination and misery. Fascination in meeting people from all over the globe, many of whom helped when I needed it, and misery in getting stranded on a cold rainy night in Paris when I couldn’t find my recently met French friend who promised me a place to stay. Never did find him. But I got to love Paris. 

I found that if I just hung in there long enough, something was bound to happen. Just go. Just do it. I moved to San Francisco in that spirit. I landed there with a few hundred dollars in my pocket and nothing else. And I found happiness, prosperity and even love. Just do it. 

I guess one element of bravery is forging ahead on something you feel you must do even though you’re not sure what exactly is going to happen next. You don’t know what lies ahead but you go ahead anyway. When an ex-boyfriend Wayne called me one night and said he’d been diagnosed with AIDS—this before any treatments existed to even alleviate the suffering—I was fearful for him and I was afraid for me and felt directly exposed to that disease. I felt like saying, “Oh, come on, Wayne, you’re ruining my dream.” But instead, I said, let’s get together. What am I going to do, I wondered—I don’t even speak the language. He was the brave one, I thought. I just had to swallow hard a few times.  

There was one time in my life when I did something that I would call brave—at least nervy—one time I deliberately dared the wrath of the empire. In July 1970, I refused to be inducted into the US Army. Years before I’d set into motion the process that lead up to that day and there I was to defy society and its power.  

Coming out was like that too. Although I did learn the language for that.  

What’s brave and what’s foolish are not always that far apart. You really can’t tell which is which many times until long after what’s done is done. I don’t have any stories of charging into burning buildings to rescue babies or puppies or risking all to save a drowning man and, frankly, I hope I never do. For most of us it’s the little everyday acts that catch you off guard and turn out to be brave whether you want them to or not. Like taking Jamie to the ER one day and answering the nurse’s question as to what my relationship was to the patient when I said, “He’s my husband,” not partner or friend or any vague nonsense. 

Bravery is plunging ahead to do right even though you don’t know where exactly you’re going to land. 

About the Author

Nicholas grew up in Cleveland, then grew up in San Francisco, and is now growing up in Denver. He retired from work with non-profits in 2009 and now bicycles, gardens, cooks, does yoga, writes stories, and loves to go out for coffee.