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May 18, 2002.
Brave Enough.
In this life I keep encountering a certain question, over and over. And the question is, am I brave enough to be here? Am I brave enough to take life, and look it in the eyes, and laugh?
Tom and I spent last weekend in Florida with his family. They live in a gorgeous little town in central Florida. It's called Windermere. It has a little main street and sweet little shady sidewalks and friendly dogs that come padding up to you with their big moist pink tongues lolling out.
(It was just a sleepy little suburb of Orlando when Tom's parents bought property there about 30 years ago. Since then, the property values have rocketed, to the point that celebrities now buy enormous gaudy waterfront mansions there. Since his parents' home is not an enormous gaudy waterfront mansion, Tom suggests that his parents live in the slums of Windermere.)
When you go to see Tom's parents, you're never more than a few blocks away from one of the enormous lakes in the area. Windermere is like the butter — it is the Land O' Lakes.
We always take a walk to the nearest lake when we visit Windermere. It is huge and blue and swept by clean breezes. It is so inviting.
We have a little ritual for our visits to the lake. On Saturday afternoon we'll walk down to the lake, usually with Kate, Tom's 8-year-old niece. And we'll get to the edge of the lake, and Tom will strip off his shirt and shoes. He'll pull his watch off and hand it to me. He'll pause at the start of the long dock leading out to the blue expanse. Then he'll dash barefoot down the dock and fling himself into the water.
And then Kate will do the same thing.
They splash around in the water, happy as clams. They swim around for a while and then they practice their diving off the dock. Again and again they'll wade up out of the lake, slosh up to the edge of the dock, and throw themselves in. Back flips. Dives. Cannonballs. Canopeners. There is much splashing and laughter.
I am always demurely seated at the edge of the dock when they're splashing around, dutifully holding Tom's watch.
I always think about jumping in. But I always rule it out. After all, reasonable grown-up ladies don't just throw themselves unexpectedly into lakes, fully-dressed. That is just unreasonable. What would happen to my carefully groomed hair? What about my nice pressed linen blouse? (And — what about the hairy, gooey microorganisms lurking at the borrom of the lake?)
I never jump in.
The lake has become an odd symbol for all that is just a little out of my reach, all that is a little too uncomfortable to pursue. Like finding a better job. Or pursuing some friendships that have lain fallow for too long.
Will I ever jump in?
I want to get past my fear. I want to get to the point where I wave my hands at all those manufactured hesitations and jump in recklessly. And splash, and laugh, and walk back to the house, shaking off the lake water.
That would be life.
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You can safely assume that you've created God in your own image when it turns out that God hates all the same people you do. — Anne Lamott
Ain't it crazy what's revealed when you're not looking all that close?
Ain't it crazy how we put to death the ones we need the most... — Over the Rhine
I would be true, for there are those who trust me; I would be pure, for there are those who care; I would be strong, for there is much to suffer; I would be brave, for there is much to dare. — Howard Arnold Walter
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