Brave

There is so much about me that is less than I hoped it would be. When I dreamed about my life, I dreamed of Oregon or Washington, D.C., or Boston or Cape Town. That was before I discovered that I don't really like Boston, but that can't be held against me. When I dreamed about my life, I weighed less, and I looked just a bit different. When I dreamed about my life, I didn't do what I do for a living, even if my living is with a really cool, important, and flexible job.

Somewhere along the way I settled for the rut I fell into because settling was easier than climbing. So I sit. And I dream. And the life I dream of doesn't look much like the life I live. The people are the same, but the places and the sights are so, so different.

But sometimes it just isn't enough. Sometimes I want reality to look just a bit more like my dreams . . . all because the short girl dancing in my living room quite often doesn't stop until she's danced across my heart.

This is the best thing that I've ever done. I keep expecting it to get old, but it doesn't. Every day is better than the one before it, even when I struggle to find time to fit my less-than-dream job in between the tears and the "cackuhs" and the mountains of laundry that fill my basement. There are no bonbons, but there are cackuhs and djoooce. And I wouldn't take a dumb old bonbon anyway. I'd take these temper tantrums over any of those.

So it's for her that I try. It's for her that I fit the job and the laundry in. It's for her that I try.

So long status quo
I think I just let go
You make me want to be brave
The way it always was
Is no longer good enough
You make me want to be brave.
- "Brave" Nichole Nordeman

It may look ugly, but she sure makes me want to try.