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I'm sitting here wrestling with myself wondering how brave I really am, and how far I will go to get what I want...to live the life of my dreams. My friends tell me repeatedly that I am brave, and that they could never do what I have done. But bravery is a relative thing. Yes, I have managed to do many difficult things on my own...more than they will ever suspect. I have somehow managed the minutiae of a move, but have I really been brave? There is, I think, a difference between being brave and doing something because one has no choice in the matter. A job just has to be done. I wear the brave face and others often never really understand what goes on under the mask or behind the wall. But there is a chunk of soul missing in my life. I've been too busy being brave to be vulnerable...paradoxical thought, I know. I'm wondering what would it be like to have Sunday afternoon rides through the wild countryside with no particular place to go, silly suppers, endless, toe-tingling laughter, and long debates with someone who can match the tenancity of a 'brave girl' with the famous stubborn streak. Been wondering could there be someone, who, at last, would be happy with the girl I have become? I crave the adventure. Maybe to you the above list does not wear the glint of wild adventures such as hang gliding, parachuting out of planes, working a backhoe, sailing a sleek vessel, or riding the bull at the rodeo, but the things I chose bring closeness, and for me that is the biggest risk of all. For you see, then I would have to take off my brave face and someone would see into my heart. It has been tucked away for far too many years. Maybe I will; maybe I won't; maybe I can't. I haven't quite made up my mind. But, I'm closer than ever to acting on an idea. And if I do, it will be the bravest thing I have ever done!
“She had been forced into prudence in her youth, she learned romance as she grew older: the natural sequel of an unnatural beginning.” Jane Austen, Persuasion
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