Two Bare Feet in the Water Kind of Brave

 

I know it's kind of weird to start a blog post with a picture of my feet. I personally find almost all feet to be off-putting, so I won't blame you if you cringe at the sight. But this may be the most meaningful picture I've taken in a while, so let me share the story of what these two bare feet in the water represent. 

I almost never have two days off work in a row, but this past Friday and Saturday, I did. When I found out that was going to be the case a couple of weeks ago, I honestly kind of panicked a little because I knew my kids weren't going to be home during that time, and it seemed like an unfathomable vacuum of quiet space to fill. Facing that quiet in a home normally teeming with noise and activity seemed like a burden I was not properly equipped to bear. So, I planned an overnight trip for myself to a rural area, with the hopes of facing the quiet in a place where quiet seemed normal instead of ridiculously out of place. It seemed like a good plan, and it was. But what I didn't think about at the time was that it was going to be the beginning of many uncomfortable, but brave, steps for me.

Let me pause there for just a moment. I have written about bravery before on this blog, and I want to reiterate that acts of bravery are defined by the person engaged in the acts. Your brave may look different than my brave because we are all wired to experience anxiety differently. What may be easy for you may be quite difficult for me and vice versa. Please keep that in mind as you continue to read my story of bravery. Some of you will be tempted to think, "What's so brave about that?!" And some of you will think, "Wow! That IS brave. I could never do that." But this is MY story of bravery, and it's okay if it isn't the same as YOUR story of bravery. 

Ok, so I planned this trip, and as the day approached to leave, I just started feeling anxious and thinking about all the things: staying in a hotel by myself for the the first time ever, hiking alone in an area I'm unfamiliar with, wondering if I would even have cell service, filling the quiet moments AWAY from home, overcoming potential weather challenges, spending money I wasn't sure if it was wise to spend, etc. etc. in a spiral. Anxiety is like that. It can take something that is supposed to be fun, insert all kinds of irrational fears about unknowns, and turn it into something scary. On the morning I was to head out, I found a number of reasons to delay my departure. But I finally took a deep breath, threw my stuff in the car, hit play on my audiobook, and got on the road. It was my first true act of bravery for this trip. But it wouldn't be the last.

The place I planned to hike was absolutely gorgeous, and I was excited to hit the trail by the time I got there. Interestingly, being alone in nature makes me feel less alone than even being with a crowd of people. And I know myself well enough to know this, which was why I planned a hiking adventure in the first place. Nature allows me to really breathe and to connect with myself and with forces that are bigger than me, so I never really experience loneliness when I'm out in it. This particular area was replete with trails, and I had no real plan going into it about which ones I would take or avoid. When I came to the first fork in the path, I chose the one to the left--not from any mystical knowing or intuitive leading--but simply because the family with several small children walking near me chose the path to the right. Not long after making my choice, I was faced with a situation that required me to make another choice, one that would truly test my bravery.

I came to a small stream with a series of medium and large stones scattered across it, which appeared to be the path itself. However, I quickly realized that halfway across the stream, the stones were being swallowed by ankle deep water. Leaves crowded the steep, muddy bank on the other side, making it difficult to see whether the stones ran out or if something might be hiding by the edge of the water. What I could see was that climbing up the bank on the other side would take some maneuvering and would likely be a little messy. I also knew the temperature outside the water was hovering around 60 degrees, and I assumed the water would feel much colder than that. I knew if I crossed with my shoes on, my shoes and socks would end up wet and cold, and sloshing through the rest of my hiking trip would not be much fun. I knew if I crossed without my shoes, I would have step into the cold water with my bare feet. Neither of those seemed like particularly amazing options. I also knew there was a third option: turning back and avoiding the choice, but that was not one I was especially excited about.

I'll pause again here for some important background information. I do not go around barefoot ever--not in my own home, and certainly not outdoors. I put shoes on when I get out of the shower in the morning and I keep them on until I slide into my bed at night. Laugh if you will, but being shoed (or at least socked) is just a part of being Mandi. Also, I really, really, really hate being cold. Under normal conditions, my temperature runs on the cool side, and I am essentially always chilled, so I intentionally avoid putting myself in situations I know are going to make me colder. Finally, while I could sit beside a body of water looking and listening all day long, I do not enjoy having my body or parts of my body submerged in water (with the exception of a really hot shower or a really nice hot tub). And I am especially uninterested in cold water and water I can't see through. 

So, there I was on the edge of a stream needing to make a decision. A knot twisted in my gut, and I sat down on a large stone to assess the situation. I took a long, slow breath, and then I said out loud to the empty forest and myself, "You've got to move forward. It's time to be brave." This was about crossing the stream, yes, but it also held a larger life meaning for me. I started unlacing my shoes and bracing myself for an onslaught of uncomfortable. And it was uncomfortable. The stones on my side of the stream were large and flat, but as the stones started disappearing under the water mid-stream, they became smaller and more wobbly and a little sharper. And the water was downright frigid. And when I reached the other side, leaves completely blocked the step just before the bank. Was there going to be another stone there or a deep drop-off? Would there be a creature hiding underneath? And then there was the matter of the ascent up the steep, muddy bank. There were no great handholds and the unforgiving bank was riddled with roots and twigs and other objects not friendly to bare feet. 

But once I had announced it was time to be brave and had put two feet in the water, I was committed. I ended up with some cold, wet, dirty feet that carried a couple of small cuts and scrapes. But I did it! And then, I did it again, when I realized the trail I had chosen was an out and back with no other routes to the main hiking area. And I'll be honest, I had to work myself up with a deep breath the second time as well. But I was so proud of myself for being brave, for stepping out of my comfort zone (or, more accurately, all my comfort zones), for doing the thing I wasn't sure I could do, and for following a path that lead me to a new and beautiful place. 

My nature is not one of bravery. I have struggled most of my life with anxiety, and I have spent more time than I'm proud to admit seeking out easy, comfortable, and safe paths or allowing those who are braver than I am to lead the way while I step only where they step and follow only the path they lay out. But life has a way of creating opportunities for each of us to choose to be brave. And sometimes we just have to say to ourselves, "You've got to move forward. It's time to be brave." Let me be clear: I don't always want to be brave. I sometimes even resent having to make the choice to be brave. And there are times when I definitely don't choose bravery...and I don't always feel bad about that. But that doesn't change the fact that there are always opportunities to choose bravery.

My hiking story doesn't end with me saying, "And that turned out to be the most beautiful path in the whole park, and I would have missed it if I hadn't taken the risk and been brave!" There were many paths that were more lovely and that were much easier to traverse. But that path was probably the most important for me, because it gave me the opportunity to be brave. And bravery was what I needed to level up in my personal growth at that moment. Engaging in acts of bravery helps us trust ourselves. And trusting ourselves is everything. And, from now on, every time I see this picture of my two bare feet in the water, I will remember a time I chose to be brave and I will trust myself just a little bit more.