Bravery is Personal

My brother is a musician. He travels way more than he would prefer, he's an amazing performer, and he's been fighting the uphill battle of making it in the music industry for more years than I can keep track. I'm sure there are tons of people that think he should just put a fork in it and be done. Regardless of what the charts reflect or what the "experts" say he hasn't given up on his dream of sharing his passion with others. I say this because I would rather adopt 5 more non-English speaking Indian teenagers than put myself out there over and over again the way he does. I felt more anxiety speaking at school assemblies when I was the building counselor than I felt traveling to a third world country and meeting my 15 year old daughter for the first time. No matter how many times I got up in front of the school, each speech would be followed by a quick bee line to my friend Megan and the words "What did I just say...I blacked out."

I think my brother is brave because he can do something I could never do, and because writing music, singing, and performing involves vulnerability. Courage changes.....it's fluid. Tonight in this moment the definition of courage for me is going up to my daughter's room and telling her how special she is to us, how much we love her, tucking her in, and telling her goodnight. The reason this act is courageous is because it's the last thing I want to do right now. She hangs on her dad, calls him at 6:48 pm because he told us he would be home from work at 6:45 pm and "He not here no?", she holds his hand, she offers him her food, and in their presence most of the time I feel like the third wheel. Shoutout to tricycles everywhere! It SUCKS and hurts like I'm assuming hell? Fingers crossed I never know. I'm so envious of the way she is to him that I'm starting to really empathize with Tinkerbell. Tonight my strength broke and I ended up in crying in the kitchen while she got ready for bed.

Over the noise of my pity party (it was pretty lit) I heard a small voice say....Legan, just care for her...that's all I want you to do. Just care for her. Why do I always complicate things? Why all the pressure? On her and on myself? Geez. My mental music for this moment of clarity is Eye of the Tiger, I wipe my tears, I eat a KitKat (or 3), I pat my puffy red face down to a shade of pink, and I head toward the guillotine. Dead mom walking.

The minute she sees me I can sense the relief wash over her. I showed up. Regardless of how I felt and regardless of the outcome she got to see that no matter what I will always show up. I get to see it too. Plus Dad's voice always has a way of morphing into Broadway thespian when he tucks her in, and she's really not a fan.

I used to think the most important thing in life was to love others, but the older I get the more I understand that I need the courage to love others more than anything. Whether it's my daughter (who rarely touches me), a child or a dog that needs a home, or that person in my life that for some reason I can never please.......I want to be brave and show up. Just care for her/them and please chill the EFF out.