4 year old has the “sweep the floor” chore this week. Tonight, after he was finished, he was putting away the broom and noticed something dangling from the bristles. Something…dark…and stringy…and mysterious. He looked at it with concentration. And then took a breath and pulled it off with his fingers. He held it out in front of him and timidly walked to the trash can.
I watched all this unfold. And then I watched him look at me with a solemn face. “Mommy, I didn’t know what that was. And I touched it anyway. That was very brave of me.”
We ask kids to be brave every day. To get them to try new foods, go into the basement at night alone, make a new friend on the playground, etc. Every day. I get annoyed when they aren’t as brave as I’d like them to be.
But when was the last time we did something brave? As adults, we just don’t find the courage we expect our kids to have.
Well. Tonight I did. I did something I’ve wanted to do for over three years. I won’t get into the specifics of it (kind of a whistle-blowing type thing), but it was painful for me. I was shaky as I sent the email. And very emotional about what repercussions I will face from this.
And then I remembered the broom scene. And realized what I did was Brave. Really, really brave. And that I am proud of myself for doing it. And how few times in life I feel the need to muster up such courage.
What if we continued to stretch ourselves like children – even into our adult years? What a life we would lead!
It’s frankly too much for me to think about tonight. My brain is mush. But I’m thankful for myself and for being brave enough to do the right thing.