"When you are born," the golem said softly, "your courage is new and clean. You are brave enough for anything: crawling off of staircases, saying your first words without fearing that someone will think you are foolish, putting strange things in your mouth. But as you get older, your courage attracts gunk and crusty things and dirt and fear and knowing how bad things can get and what pain feels like. By the time you're half-grown, your courage barely moves at all, it's so grunged up with living. So every once in a while, you have to scrub it up and get the works going or else you'll never be brave again. Unfortunately, there are not so many facilities in your world that provide the kind of services we do. So most people go around with grimy machinery, when all it would take is a bit of spit and polish to make them paladins once more, bold knights and true."
Excerpt from The Girl who Circumnavigated Fairyland In A Ship Of Her Own Making, Catherynne M. Valente. Words embolded by Bean. :)
I.
When we are born into this world, we arrive with a few things no one can take away from us. Every boy and every girl receives the same gifts: a jar and a bottle. Inside the jar is courage--sparkly and fuzzy and electrifying. And in case you were wondering, courage glows slightly blue. Inside the bottle is hope--fresh, effervescent, smells-like-sunshine hope. Every child instinctively knows what to do with courage and hope. We rub courage liberally all over ourselves and drink deeply from hope and go out into the world to explore and discover and learn and take risks. We are fearless. We know that our jar of courage and bottle of hope are bottomless as long as we keep using them.
As we grow, some of us forget how to use courage, forget how to drink hope. At least that's what happened to me. I stopped using these gifts and began to ration them. For when I really need them, I said.
Foolish Bean.
Courage and hope, unused, dwindle away to nothing.
When I decided to start scribbling every day, I didn't expect to receive any feedback. In fact, I expected to lose blog subscribers and followers because I was rambling aloud.
I was just adding more noise to an already noisy virtual universe.
Blog friends, I was surprised and delighted and humbled to receive responses to the daily scribbles. I have loved the conversations we've had, the parts of your lives you've shared in your responses. Thank you for your texts, phone calls, e-mails, comments and spoken words of encouragement.
My jar of courage and bottle of hope were empty, but you filled them up.
Thank you
For encouraging me to write;
For wanting to have conversations with me;
For sharing your own stories.
II.
If you are running low on courage or hope (or if you're completely out), let me know. I will be your cheer cheerleader.
To those who strive to tell stories through words or sculptures or pictures or movement or song or paintings or movies:
Thank you.
You are courageous for telling your own stories and sharing yourself with a nameless, faceless audience who may or may not like you.
(You might not think that's courageous, but I do.)
Keep on keepin' on.
III.
Do you have a super-secret passion for something--anything--that you're hesitant to pursue? Do you want to open your own bakery or start your own dog-walking business? Write a novel/poem/screen play? Become the next Food Network Star?
Please share!
I could tell try to persuade you to go for it (in way too many words), but I'll let Jon Acuff do the talking. He is the one who inspired me to scribble every day. He is one of my favorite people--my far-away friend and unofficial mentor. (It's unofficial because he doesn't know. Shhh. It's still a secret.)
Also, he is hilarious. Check him out. Be inspired.
