What is fear? What does it mean to be brave? To be courageous? We watch movies and read novels that tell us being brave means charging into battle – into great wars with gladiators gutting it out in the arena. But I’ll tell ya, everything in my oh-so-extensive 23 years of life (joke… ha) – but really, has taught me that the most gruesome battlefield is the one of your own mind and heart.
My definition of courage is looking within – at what really scares you most. Not what the world defines as “scary” – but what your heart defines as scary. Your biggest insecurities – vulnerabilities – your greatest guilt and most humbling shame. Courage is NOT turning away. It is choosing not to numb. Not to run.
I, like most human beings on this planet, have spent the majority of my young life doing just the opposite. I have spent my time turning away. Running. And numbing. Numbing. Numbing. We all numb. And we all have our “drug” of choice. For some it is alcohol. Others food. Running. Extreme exercise. Weed. Pills. Sex. Shopping. Narcotics. Obsessive compulsiveness. Control. Anger. Clinging to relationships. Roaming. Working. We will do ANYTHING to not feel. And oh I know this well. Because to actually feel our vulnerabilities – our fears – our shame… is terrifying.
Courage is diving in. Courage is saying, I don’t want to numb anymore. It is saying that I am sick of dulling down my life. It is saying I want to feel joy… I want to feel love. Because as we dull our pain and our shame… we also dull our greatest joys… our connection to other humans. It is saying I am sick of the burning whiskey. I am tired of eating cookies to dull my loneliness. Tired of running and running and running… hoping I can run away from my pain. Courage is picking up a shovel, and starting to dig. It is digging deep into our beings… into the caves and caverns of our souls. Into our fear. Into the swampland of our souls and getting dirty. And getting to know ourselves. Who we really are. It is learning to dance in the mess.
I posted a status yesterday on facebook that noted my search to find a way to make yoga pants locally. I got online later to a joke from a dear friend that there are plenty of people doing nude yoga, problem solved.
The funny thing is that the other night before reading that reply, I had my first experience with nude yoga. And before you stop reading, it was one of the most profound and uncomfortable, yet healing experiences I have had in a long time. As a woman in society, and particularly from Western society, I feel judged every single day on my body. By men, by other women, and most of all by myself. I am bombarded with images of the unattainable figure. I fight a battle with myself and this world every day to know that I am enough. To know that I am beautiful simply because I am me. That I have nothing to prove to anyone. That my body is perfect the way it is. That I can be healthy and happy and WHOLE. We spend too much time trying to make ourselves fit what we think others want us to be. Instead of being fully who we are.
So at midnight, I found myself closing the curtains…. Very VERY tight… locking the door, and coming to face myself. My body. Who I am. All of my vulnerabilities and insecurities. All of my fear. The 2 flies gracing my presence were an added bonus…not. I have been practicing yoga for 6 years… and in those 6 years, I have felt my body many times… I have come to face myself on the mat over and over. But to stand before myself, stripped bare… both literally and figuratively, made me come to terms with who I am like I never have before. And while I was all too ready to wrap a towel around myself at the end of it, I came closer to my true being that night. All of us can show our put-togetherness… our organized selves… our greatest achievements. But to dig into the muck of it all… that is scary… and that is what I believe is true bravery.
And no, I’m not saying that everyone should go do naked yoga. I even hesitated whether to tell this story. But it is important. This is my truth. I don’t care what people think. This is truth from my heart. Truth from my mat. Truth as I feebly attempt to be brave and courageous.
We need to come back to ourselves. Face our fears. I refuse to be the victim of these battles. I’m diving in…charging into the arena. And as Roosevelt once said…
“It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood, who strives valiantly; who errs and comes short again and again; because there is not effort without error and shortcomings; but who does actually strive to do the deed; who knows the great enthusiasm, the great devotion, who spends himself in worthy cause, who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement and who at worst, if he fails, at least he fails while daring greatly. So that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who know neither victory nor defeat.”