Courage, so what.

I've often herd courage defined in the past. I think that the definitions all kind of varied, but the one I liked said something to the effect of courage is nothing more than being afraid, and then moving forward despite that fear, without regard to the damage that you may now inflict on yourself. What kind of crazy concept is this? The concept were a person looks at darkness, fear, and loss and says "I will go anyway. I will do this anyway. For the potential reward is too great, too critical, too important not to make this grand, indeed sometimes greatest of gambles." I think that there are many small things that we do that seem courageous, but it is the greatest that truly define us. In my life it has been that way. The greatest defining moments have always been associated with uncertainty, great risk, and of course there is fear.

I remmember quite vividly the moment that I decided to go on a mission. I remmember vividly the times that I choose to chase love even though it meant pain. I remmeber the moments that I spoke up and out in my carrier, and maybe shot over may head, and the rewards that came from being a risk taker. The most memorable experiences in all aspects of my life are associated with some type of risk. Is that then the secret. It might be. The cautious is rarely considered courageous. He who allows circumstance to dictate his life rarely has a life that is later deemed worthy of much introspection or celebration. In fact the greatest men I have ever known have without question always opened themselves up to the battles, to the pain, to the risk. It is without question the fire that forges the metal within.

How many heroes don't get to tell that story? How many of the noble and great are not remmebered? How many take the step only to be crushed by the hand of fate and destiny. I'm glad that such a statistic is not kept, for in keeping it, we would only be validating the true waste of ones life. I'm begining to think it is infinatley better, no matter the result, to be crushed by the weight and gravity of a situation, than it is too sit iddly by and daily, iddly die. For the ones who don't try neither win nor are they spared the gut wrenching pain of knowing that they have been too weak to dare. They are left cowarding and misserable, wondering what they might attain if only they tried. And they will sit forever and still wonder what might have been. What a terrible fate, drowning in what ifs'. All of us do. All of us are in a sense treading water, maybe just wading. Waiting for the moment when we either gain, or lose enough reason to jump.

Courage, so what? As you may have guessed it's on my mind. I'm quitting. Does it really take courage to quit something. After all, it's not so much doing as lack thereoff. At least that's what I would have thought. But now maybe my perspective has changed. Now I understand a little more, maybe alot more. In certain situations, the great act of courage is not to run with, but to question enough, be brave enough, to ask "why do I run?" How ironic that it might take courage to quit running, quit trying, quit carring. It is without a doubt the most difficult thing that I have ever done. I'm afraid. I'm scarred. I must face my war alone. Some decisions are so difficult that you can't really get help, or maybe don't want it. That's when you know you're on the really dangerous ground, the landmines, when you really don't even want a friend there with you, because you know the truth. Isn't it the most amazing empowering thing when they stand up anyway? When they throw you a rifle, when they shout, if only for a moment the encouragement you needed to walk that last yard? That is what you find in your search for courage. You find it, and it is not in a lonely place reserved for the hardened and heroed. It was in the hand that reached for you. It was deep inside of your soul. It was in the soft voice that spoke to you. It was in the air that you took for granted. That is where it was all along.

And now I look over the wall. Now I see the great emptiness, the field before me. I hold nothing. Worldly possesions are meaningless. I have nothing but a rifle. I cannot see the other side. I have nothing to lose, accept everything. I have nothing to gain, accept everything. My senses seem sharper, though at the same time numb. Everything is happening quickly, yet in slow motion. Is this what it feels like? Is this the feeling before the explosion? Is this the feeling before the impact? I feel so alive, and so scarred, and I know that this is the moment that I must decide... I tell myself that after I begin to run, this will be easy. I only need to step one boot onto the field. And so this... this is my moment...

Courage, so what?