Do you think of yourself as brave?

By Heidi Scrimgeour

Do you think of yourself as brave?

I know I don’t. In fact if you asked me to describe myself that’s certainly not a word that would spring to mind.

But if there’s one thing I’ve learned of late, it’s that bravery isn’t just a state of being, like being blonde (I am, with a little help…) or being a major fan of shoes (guilty, especially if they’re red…)

You can’t just act bravely once and then tick a box and claim lifetime membership of the bravery club. Being brave is a choice we make, not just once but again and again, and it rarely gets any easier to choose. It’s a risk, a leap of faith, and sometimes even a shot in the dark.

Being brave means taking a deep breath, closing your eyes and stepping forward into the unknown. It’s letting go of the consequences and having no way of knowing whether you’re falling or flying.

Speaking of which, I spotted this photograph of a greeting card recently and it took my breath away because I feel as if it perfectly captures the season I find myself living in of late. Or maybe it’s not a season but my whole life. (Scary thought…)

Brave is the little spark of feisty hope in your heart that refuses to be extinguished. It’s the quickening of your pulse when you know you’re in over your head - and yet have never felt so alive.

Being brave is a perpetual feeling that you’re flying by the seat of your pants. Sometimes that’s fun; a thrilling adventure. Other times I feel sick to my stomach, and desperate for a little sit down. Even brave battle maidens need a quiet cup of tea now and again.

And that’s ok; being brave isn’t the same as being fearless. In fact true bravery probably means making your peace with the fact that no-one ever died from feeling a little fearful. Well, as far as I know they didn’t…

The bravest things I’ve ever done have always involved a healthy dose of fear, if such a thing exists. Forgiving what culture says is unforgivable. Extending endless grace when no-one would have blamed me for holding a lifelong grudge. Laughing when I felt like crying. Trusting the wisdom of someone else’s ‘You can do this,’ when fear had overwhelmed me and persuaded me that I couldn’t, so there was no point even trying.

And every time I’ve chosen to believe I just might fly - instead of shrinking away from opportunity for fear of falling - I’ve always, always been astonished by the realisation of how close I came to missing the utter joy of soaring when you thought you’d never even get off the ground.

The thing I believed I couldn’t do but which someone else’s bravery in the face of my despair helped to make me fit for? On an almost daily basis I feel speechless with gratitude that I didn’t miss this sweetness. Sometimes it’s someone else’s brave that gets us through. It’s good to have enough to spare.

I’ve said yes to things I didn’t feel ready for. Boarded planes without certainty that it would be worthwhile, and opened my mouth to speak with no clue of what to say. Embraced opportunities that seemed way beyond my capability, and hurtled headlong into seemingly inevitable disaster, only to find it turn to manna in my hands.

So am I brave? Not really. It wouldn’t make my list of five words I’d used to describe me to a stranger. I’m not brave as I am blonde or fond of shoes. 

But I have resolved to leap wholeheartedly towards the adventure I know I’m made for, even though there’s a terrifying chance I’ll fall. I might dither for a moment, or ask a friend to hold my hand as I take the plunge. 

But I will teeter on the brink of that scary precipice and choose ‘brave’ even when I feel I’m not worthy of that label. 

I'll see you there.