I’ve been waiting. Waiting for the right words. Waiting for the right time. Waiting for inspiration to hit. Waiting to have something more important to say. Waiting and waiting and waiting. And a couple of years have passed in this holding pattern.

I’ve been wondering just how much time can go by before I have to stop calling myself a writer. If I am no longer actively seeking out writing assignments, if I am no longer sending my work out, if I am no longer writing, am I still a writer? What if the words are just lodged in my throat? What if there are thousands of words burning inside of me like an out of control forest fire and I have simply become unrooted in who I am and too afraid now? Am I still a writer if I have become comfortable choking on the ashes of everything that goes unsaid? What if I have very recently turned down not one, but two speaking opportunities? Further tanking the hopes of what I thought I would be, what I thought I could be. What then to this form of self sabotage that feels steeped in cowardice?

Maybe quiet bravery has to come first. A small step forward that no one sees. A dim light in a dark room. A whisper of hope. Giving what you fear a name. Pushing past what would stop most people. Or maybe sometimes bravery just needs to roar. Standing up when everyone else sits down. Doing something even though you have NO idea what you are doing. Saying yes to trying. Maybe bravery can be anything you need it to be. Anything you say it is. Maybe you are already brave.

What if we did that in everyday life? What if we stopped waiting for the perfect time? Because there is no perfect time. There is only here. There is only now. And I have no guarantees in this life. I don’t want a list of things I should have done or wish I would have done if I live to an old age. I want to run a multi-day ultramarathon through another country. I want to jump out of an airplane. I want start my own charity. I want to write books…plural. I secretly even want to write poetry, even if it is seen as an outdated art that doesn’t sell. And more, so much more. I want to do more and see more. I want to take my kids on adventures of their own. I may not always succeed in what I do but I want to try. I have to try. I am not this person who sits on the sidelines. I have never been before and I don’t want to be anymore. 

And so today’s quiet bravery comes in the form of this muddled piece of writing with no real defined edges. (Thanks for reading it anyhow!) I promise it will get better as I get in the swing of it again. Here I sit, afraid to hit this silly little blue button that says publish. But I am going to do it anyhow. And I am going to do it more often.

Join me. Let’s do the small and big things scared. Let’s start today. Not tomorrow. Let’s do it now.