Ordinary Courage

Just after I filed for divorce in April of 2009, we went as a family to Casa Manana to see the scheduled show on the season subscriber list. I was excited about seeing A Year with Frog and Toad because I was and always will be a fan of the Frog and Toad books. I credit Frog and Toad for keeping me grounded during a chaotic and dark period of time.

I was enraptured with the performance and the music. I downloaded the CD onto my phone on the drive home. (As I write that, I marvel, yet again, at technology. It's remarkable that I didn't have to wait more than the download time to hear the Broadway original score.) I also bought the CD because I had this feeling I'd be downloading it more than what iTunes would allow. I've burned countless copies to give out to both grateful and skeptical friends. I suspect that the CD player in my minivan broke because of the constant play of the CD. There are treasures within the lyrics and music: enduring friendship, problem solving, tenacity, adventure, sacrificial love, frustration with friends, transformation, and courage. The genius is that it's hilarious and great fun to sing along with whether you're 5 or 55.  

I've been thinking about courage so much lately. My wise friend, Gay has told me for years that I had courage. Mostly I just disagreed internally and said a polite, "Thank you," externally. I think I began understanding courage that Spring. Gay planted the seeds. Toad helped me harvest them. (which, by the way, would segue way nicely into the song, "Seeds")

Toad is hosting Christmas Eve at his home and Frog is late. He begins imagining all the horrific things that could have and most certainly did happen to cause Frog's delay. The scenes he conjures become increasingly more perilous. The fear in Toad's voice is apparent. The line that I found myself singing, quite badly, and with passion, so often, was, "I----- am not afraid!!   (long pause) ........ well I am, but I'll be BRAVE."

Courage is not the absence of fear. Courage is the willingness to look straight into the face of something daunting and do it anyway. We so often get the image of massive firefighters or soldiers with guns when the word courage is mentioned. Courageous is used at funerals to describe a person's battle against cancer. Those are all acts of courage and I do not intend to minimize those. What I'm thinking about lately is ordinary courage. 

I started an online course two weeks ago with that title, "Ordinary Courage".  It has been an amazing study and my mind has been on overdrive thinking about courage. Brene Brown and Jen Lemmon are co facilitating this class. Brene defines ordinary courage as the willingness to "speak from our hearts--to tell our stories." Sounds so simple on the surface. It's easy to speak from our hearts when our story is admirable, brimming with optimism, and punctuated with flawless skin, size 6 jeans, and high SAT scores. But, what if, you're me? A 46 year old, divorced woman who wears a size 18? I color my hair, use wrinkle cream daily, speed up at yellow lights, and every once in while, wear Spanx--which inevitably leads to gas. Do I have the courage to be that?

Facebook reconnected me to a choir buddy from high school. We were great friends within the walls of the choir room at Kingwood High School. As adults we're forging a deeper and more intimate friendship because of that shared history. She came up from Houston to Dallas to attend a theatre production. Our planning conversation sounded like this, Me- "Hey! I'd LOVE for you to come up on Thursday night! Annie Beth will be with her Dad." C- "I WISH I could. I've got this mother/daughter cheer event on Thursday night at the JV football game. I dread it! We'll be out there with our darling little daughters the whole game--in front of everyone!"

When Christy got here Friday we went to get pedicures. The salon was full and we sat at the end in the last two chairs. She started telling me about the cheer event. It was part of a breast cancer awareness night. It was entirely possible that she would tell me she hated every minute of it. I knew that was not the story, though because I had seen three of the pictures on my Facebook news feed. I had commented and told her she MUST use one of them as her profile shot--pure joy on the faces of Mom and her mini-me. She pulled out her phone to show me the rest of the shots. When we got to pictures of she and her friends' herkies, we both were truly laughing our heads off. We cackled so much I had to pat my face to calm myself down. I commented on the shot and told her friend that I want to be her when I grow up! I really want that woman to use that picture as her profile shot. Shoot! I might use it as mine. 

How come? Because it explains ordinary courage better than all my words on this page. I can't even remember this brave woman's name. I can tell you a few things about her, though. She went to high school. She knows what adolescents say and do at that age. I'm guessing she was a cheerleader based on her perfect herkie. This is an educated guess based on cultural norms, but I'm guessing that she knows she's not Playboy centerfold material. She is mother to a gorgeous, talented, blonde cheerleader. She loves her daughter with great passion. She doesn't want to get breast cancer. She doesn't want her daughter to get breast cancer. She knows how to laugh, too. She is a woman of ordinary courage. 

I do know Christy well and this is what I can say about her ordinary courage. She knows herself. She knew beforehand she had anxiety about jumping around. She understands gravity and what happens with stomachs that aren't flat. But, just like her friend, she loves her daughter and wanted to make memories that would last a lifetime. So she loaded up the blue face paint and insisted on painting every mother's face and one very courageous father's. The one who only wanted it on her hand didn't get her wish. (Just another reason to love Christy.) She knows that laughter is a great equalizer. She uses that power to enable others, who have eyes to see it, do the same. She had the courage to push past the anxiety and enjoy every minute of being a 45 year old, overweight Mom who for one night was a cheerleader extraordinaire alongside her darling daughter.

PS How I wish I wasn't alone right now and I could take a picture of myself doing a herkie! I never, ever could do one. I'm convinced it would be worse than my best 6th grade effort. Darn.

In the meantime, Go Christy! Go Christy's friend! "We are the Cham-pions, my Fri-ends!" Here's to Ordinary Courage.