On Being Brave

The title of this post is an adjective that does not describe me.

At least, I don’t think it does.

Yeah, I’m adventurous. But I’m not brave.

It’s a rare thing for me to do something that might kill me, or worse, result in failure.

I’m about to do just that…do somthing that I might fail at, not something that might kill me.

So I guess that means I get to be brave.

That was a fake, e-smile.

Really. Cause I kind of have knots in my stomach as I think about the next few months.

So I took

a job at a local coffee shop a few months ago.

It was more to get me out of the house for a few hours every week, but if we’re being honest, the extra money has been nice, too.

I’ve enjoyed the people I work with and the friends I’ve made there, but the schedule of it isn’t working.

I feel like I don’t see my family…as in the three of us…all together during the week. Not to mention that Tuesdays and Wednesdays are horrendously long. And it’s starting to wear on us…ALL of us.

So I decided that for the sanity of my family I needed to be doing something where I could at least stay home.

That’s where the bravery comes

in.

In the next month or so I’m going to head a different direction and try something that I’ve wanted to do for a really long time.

And I am so scared I’m going to fail.

Even brave people fail at things, and that isn’t something I enjoy.

That failure thing.

More to come.

P.S. That was a real smile. I can be brave.