Brave Enough To Be Bliss

Chapter 1 — Not Fair, Just Life

“It’s your reaction to adversity, not adversity itself that determines how your life’s story will develop.” Dieter F. Uchtdorf

Life…is…hard.

What if that could be the premise on which we lived our lives?

What if we were honest that there will be times that are so happy we feel like our hearts could explode, and there will also be times that are so bad we literally feel like we cannot possibly survive the pain?

What if we all not only accepted, but embraced, that that’s the way life is and there isn’t anything wrong with that?

What if we lived in the present moment and experienced the joy, the mundane, and yes even the pain , as it came? One present moment at a time.

And what if when the pain came, we didn’t try to dull it by doing things that hurt us even further, and instead we simply put that much time and energy into helping ourselves and each other through the pain by extending the understanding, care and physical presence that all humans long for?

What if we took a step back from interacting with each other and made connecting with each other our life’s purpose?

What are we afraid of?

I don’t know what your answer is, but mine was… everything .

“Expose yourself to your deepest fear; after that, fear has no power, and the fear of freedom shrinks and vanishes. You are free.” Jim Morrison

Several years ago, when a friend asked about this book’s audience, I was taken aback for a moment. I had to admit, as hard as that was, I hadn’t clearly articulated it. I was embarrassed, and then panic -stricken. Had I really said publicly I was writing a book without even identifying the audience? How dumb of me. I knew every piece of writing needs an audience. Previously that one question would have been enough to make me hang my head in shame and give up on the whole idea. That is not an exaggeration. I would have spent the rest of my life-not that moment or the next hour or that day-but the rest of my life beating myself up in my mind, saying I could have been a writer. I could have been brave. I might have even touched a few lives. I might have changed my own. But damn it, I didn’t identify the audience. I would have gone on to tell myself that it’s really a g ood thing my friend saved me by asking that question, because undoubtedly the book would have been a failure anyway. Really, she had saved me from embarrassment, public ridicule, the investment of time and effort. I would have said things like, you were stupid for even thinking you could write a book, who would want to read a book written by someone like you? What do you know? Nothing. You know nothing worth sharing and only people who have life all figured out write books. Only people who are experts at book writing write books. Stupid, stupid, stupid. What were you thinking even entertaining the idea? What an idiot you are. That was just some dream and people like you don’t deserve dreams, and even if you have them, they sure as hell would never come true. Then I would have thrown in a few more insults for good measure until I had sufficiently punished myself for being…human. Fortunately, by the time my friend asked that question I had learned enough about self-compassion that after the one “how dumb of me” comment, I simply told myself, “That’s OK , identify the audience now.” And here’s the exact content of the text answer I sent to my friend the next day.