Half my life I’ve been convinced I lack courage.
But lately, I’ve been thinking I just worry that I lack courage.
It’s seems a fine line to be sure, but it’s an important one.
Lacking courage, of course, means not having the guts, will, or impulse to take on the hard things in life. And, presumably, the harder the challenge, the lesser the chance you’re goin’ headlong into it…whatever it is.
But the second condition entails something entirely different, and that’s that courage as an inherent or learned characteristic is itself what is questioned, and the truly difficult part is all the time you spend worrying about whether you’ll rise to the challenge, if, presumably, you get off your fat duff and try to even do something. Continue reading
I am standing near the curb of a well-manicured front lawn and a green grass evocative of any standard vision of the classic American suburban yard. Standing on the periphery, clearly distraught but detached from the immediate situation, is my Mother. A very cute, very aloof family dog hops about randomly, not at all noticing the body lying prone near the street.
It is one of my sisters who lay motionless on the soft, slightly damp, slightly cool grass. I have no clue what has happened, only that for practical purposes she’s “gone.” Her body is alive, yes, but she cannot move, cannot speak, cannot hear.
I kneel beside her, placing my cheek to hers, my warm ear making slight contact with her cooler one. To my surprise, she begins to speak to me telepathically.
“The dog won’t even pay any attention to me. He just keeps pooping and peeing all over.”
“But he’s just a pup, Sis, he doesn’t know that there’s something wrong.”
“But I’m laying right here. It seems quite obvious I’m not moving, something’s obviously wrong” she sent, her lips still, her eyes open and staring straight but taking in nothing.
“He doesn’t know, honey.” Continue reading