What It Is To Be Brave

“I was in the grocery store and this father next to me was talking to his daughter… and the dad says: ‘Honey, if you decide to go on the rollercoaster, that’s brave. But don’t forget, if you decide NOT to go on the rollercoaster, and you tell us that you don’t want to go on the rollercoaster, THAT is brave too.” -Glennon Doyle

When I was a child, there were a lot of things I was scared of — standing barefoot on a cane toad, stairs I could see through, anything I had to jump over, throw, or hit. And I avoided them wherever possible. 

Then there were things that I chose not to do — not only because I was scared, but largely because I had no interest in doing them. Not once did I go on a rollercoaster. Or get on a surfboard, or climb a tree.

When I was 12, about ten of us stayed overnight on the property of one of the girls in my class. We’d all grown up together, attending a small rural school amongst the sugar cane fields, and this was our first overnight party. In the afternoon we swam in the dam and played with the dogs. That night there would be a bonfire and sleeping under the stars.

Our friend’s father had put up a giant zip line that went from one of the gum trees high up the hill, all the way down to the house. I don’t remember if there was a harness. What I do remember, was that I was the only one who didn’t go on it. I was the only one who said I didn’t want to.

When Dad picked me up the next morning he asked me about the party and what we’d done. I told him about the zip line.

“But I didn’t go on it,” I said, wanting to reassure him that I hadn’t done anything dangerous.

“Why not?” he asked. “It would have been fun.”

Even my own father, the wisest, most sensible person I knew, could not understand why I hadn’t wanted to go on the zip line.

Yes, I’d been scared. But I also didn’t go on it because for me, it wasn’t fun. I could not think of a single reason why I would do it. It simply wasn’t for me. 

As so often happened, I was made to feel that in choosing not to do something, I was not only unadventurous, but a bit of a wimp.

But in that moment, was I really being a coward? Or was I being brave?

It’s precisely this, what it means to be brave, that writer Glennon Doyle, her sister Amanda, and Glennon’s wife Abby Wambach discuss in a recent episode of their Podcast We Can Do Hard Things. 

In each episode of their podcast they discuss the difficult things we do every day. Relationships, careers, addictions, sex, raising children, standing up for what is important for us — they explore them all and more. 

In their discussion about bravery, Glennon recounts a story about a boy whose family are encouraging him to jump off a large rock into a river:

“He did not want to jump and the whole family started yelling ‘Be brave! Jump! Jump!’

“If he looked inside himself and felt a knowing that said ‘this is not right for me’… the bravest thing on earth for him to do would have been to look at his family and say: ‘No, I’m not jumping. I’m not jumping because it’s not right for ME.’

“Being brave sometimes requires you to allow the whole word to think you’re a coward. Jumping, because a bunch of other people yelled at you and told you to, is not brave, if all you’re doing is cowering to the outer crowd’s expectations of you instead of honouring yourself.”

Just as when I was a child, and then a teenager, there have been many times as an adult when I have elected not to jump — despite what might be considered loud ‘encouragement’ from those around me. I have often chosen home instead of out, two drinks instead of ten, the TV over a date.

There have also been many times when I have taken great leaps which others may think are reckless, cannot understand, or simply do without a second thought. I’ve travelled across seas to share my life with semi-strangers. I’ve jumped off mountains and hiked the alps. I’ve driven roads I did not know, turned up to functions all alone, left friends and lovers when our values were not shared.

Making many of those decisions — to do or or not do things, big and small — has taken great courage. And for many of those decisions, I will not be cheered on, applauded or congratulated. This is because only I know how much courage it took me — to either take that leap, or not.

We all, every day, face situations that test our bravery. We weigh up the advantages with the disadvantages. The fear and the enjoyment. Some of us will make a decision in an instant. For others it takes much longer. 

What I’ve realised, is that bravery does not depend on others. As Glennon says: “It’s not about the jumping or not jumping … it’s about the inner choice — to honour yourself or not.”