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COURAGE
One evening after work, I waited for a bus home in a particularly rough part of Chicago. I had just moved to a new neighborhood of blooming artists, vibrant, colorful cultures, and low rent. As much as I loved smelling the sweet baked goods from the local Pandaria as I walked to the L train, living here required me to create a suit of armor around my being. I stood on guard that evening next to a money advance business and watched people exchange their problems. The bus wasn't coming, the wind blew, and I pulled my scarf over my nose and my hat just above my eyes.
When I was little, my Dad told me that if I lowered my shoulders, I could control the shivering, and the cold wouldn't feel so bad--I breathed in deeply, softening the chill. I looked at my phone, and the time for the bus on the sign had already passed--delayed.
It felt like the city was starting to crawl and cave closer in on me. Opportunistic glares surrounded me; the wind blew harder, and I considered hailing a taxi and blowing my grocery money. Then two headlights flashed down the street, driving closer and closer to me; I stood tall, shield up. The car pulled beside me and stopped.
The window rolled down, "Hey!" The driver yelled.
I didn't want to look in, but the voice was warmer than expected.
"Hey!" She said again. "I'm a Mom. You shouldn't be out here in this part of the city late at night."
I stood there calculating the unseen fields. I scanned her car, her eyes, her 2 face, the smell from the vehicle, and the items in her front seat; my body sent me the signal--caution but open. I bent down to see her clearer.
"My husband is the Chief of Chicago police." Her voice cut through the wind. "You can not be out here alone on this street. I can take you home. Where are you going?"
"18th and Throop," I said. The wind blew harder, pushing me closer into her car. Showing me her purse and phone, she said, "Here, look, these are the most important things to me. You can hold them in your lap while I take you home."
I didn't move.
"I can not drive by and leave you here. I'm safe. I promise." She pleaded.
I felt her-- a stranger but familiar. I knew that plea to help someone. My guard came down just enough to accept. She turned the heat on high and assured me she would get me home safely, wrapping me in her "sensitivity to suffering.". The ride was short but long enough to school me on navigating this part of the city at night as a young girl, but sternly advised me never to do this again. Compassion is not "soft, weak, or simply "nice."; it is courageous.
What might your courage be calling to you to do, be, say…? Explore below.
3 Calm Point Meditations to generate courage.
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Daily Intention: “I can. I will. I am.”
May this intention serve as a catalyst for momentum. I often share this with our daughter when she is embarking on something new and not sure of her capacity for courage.
LET’S STAY CONNECTED.
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Weekly Practice: Courage