Concern

Too often I think we worry about being brave.

I shy away from calling a friend because I feel as though I have to be brave for her, although I know she's well-capable of being brave on her own, and I simply have to support and applaud and smile and hug and love.

I didn't go out for a long time because I was afraid of drinking and letting myself get back to a dark place where I'm growing uncomfortable being.

I didn't take a bath for a long time because I was afraid it would make me want to turn over and blow bubbles in the water. (I showered though! Scout's honour.)

We don't become brave by avoiding. We become brave by facing Truth, in all of the various mysteries and facets and faces of that name.

I went out last night. I had one drink--more rum than coca-cola--and learned that I'll best stick to drinking just at weddings, where it seems they purposefully do not make drinks as strong.

I had lunch with my former boss yesterday afternoon. I have a clearer direction for my future, and a better, and more honest, sense of humour about loss and life and love.

I met an adopted greyhound named Rita and a neighbor named Ramona first thing yesterday morning.

I talked to my dear friend who works with the law and security, and we're hoping to meet up sometime soon to discuss such things and life. He's quite older than me, so it's a real testament to my growing faith in the general population: and he's one of a kind.

And it's a beautiful dawn. I was reading Chopin and waking up, when I came across this mercifully-written line, "She would only smile, as though beauty were a thing that concerned her not."

And now, I feel a grace has been shown to me. I know how to respond when folks tell me I'm beautiful. It is truly something that concerns me not.

I know I'm beautiful, for I know all people are beautiful. It is a fact. And it is not something to be dwelled upon, as I usually--negatively about myself--brood. I'm comfortable with myself, with my body, learning its limitations all over again, enjoying my own smile and fit of my clothes, my lack of hair, the colour of my eyes and the way gray allows them to look. But it is only beauty. It is not a concern.

So I'll smile, and I'll not be concerned.

It is in loving that concerns me. And I'm putting my first real stitch in my quilt today. Hooray.

Happy Saturday.