Being Brave

I had a round of errands to run today, so I decided to treat myself to lunch at the House of Bamboo while I was out. Their pad thai is awesome and I love supporting local people. The proprietress showed me to a table and as I sat she pointed to my necklace and said she liked it. I was wearing my Year of the Horse symbol. She said “very brave,” smiled and then left to get me water.

This was a moment of synchronicity since I had just realized how stuck in fear I have become in regards to looking for work. On my way to the restaurant, I passed by several shops. As I looked at clothes, and shoes and art work I thought about how much I liked some of the things I was seeing and how easy it was not to get caught up in materialism now that I am unemployed.

It suddenly occurred to me that—since I got knocked down to bare subsistence living, and then worked my way back to a modest abundance that still teeters on the edge of disaster—I am scared of going back to a larger abundance. I have seen a couple of jobs advertizing large salaries and I come up with all sorts of reasons to not even try for them: I don't want to work for another dysfunctional nonprofit that is struggling financially, administratively challenged, and saddled with enough challenging personalities that all work grinds to a halt. I don’t want to work that hard again and have nothing to show for it in the end. And, besides, I am not really qualified.

In actuality, it isn't any of those things. It is fear of success and fear of failure. I am safe in my new limbo world. I have food and shelter and some beauty and comfort. Why would I give that up for struggle and hard work and a likelihood of failure in a field fraught with fringe crazies and pathetic finances? Right now, no one expects too much from me so anything I do is wonderful. Right now I am only responsible for myself so I can only let myself down. I am scared that if I apply for these jobs I might get one, and then I might fail at it.

Failure is always a possibility. However, true failure is lacking imagination, insight and wisdom to learn from mistakes and losses.

In the past couple of months I have been remembering the picture that I used to draw when I was about five years old—a little troll girl, silently crying and holding a black and wilted flower. I clearly remember thinking the caption was “I kill everything I touch.” I don’t know where the picture or the conviction came from, but it has been with me all of my life—subtext for all of my relationships and career moves.

Now I am asking—what if I got it wrong? What if the message was not about me killing everything, but instead was about a path of compassion? A path of compassion can lead one to be there for many tragedies. A path of compassion can lead one to reach out to those who are most troubled, those who are most struggling, and those most likely to make little or no progress. It would be easy for a five year old to interpret myself as the cause, when really I was just the witness.

My little troll girl can stand as a picture, but I need to reinterpret the message. My heart is strong enough and kind enough to take on hard cases and difficult tasks. I am brave enough to stay open to challenging situations and relationships, and sturdy enough to endure the pain, confusion, fear, and anger in this world. I am tough enough to witness the depths of grief and also the heights of joy and the penetrating warmth of love. For nothing is permanent—not grief, nor anger, nor fear.

The woman at the restaurant had it right. I am very brave. And a few small moments of weakness and doubt and fear will not stop me. Not for long!

Time to go get some job applications in:)