Daring Greatly

Anyone who's known me for longer than five minutes knows that I love the work of Brene Brown. I have read all her books, watched every YouTube video she's ever been in, and listened to every podcast she's been a part of. I follow her everywhere on social media. Everything she says about vulnerability, authenticity and resilience just resonates so much; over the last 2-3 years, I have been increasingly putting her work into practice in my daily life.

Recently, I discovered her online courses around Daring Greatly and Rising Strong--extended learning from two of her books. So naturally, I signed myself up. If you appreciate Brene's work and want to explore more of what it means to live it out in your own life, I highly recommend both courses.

At the end of the Daring Greatly course, one of the exercises was to write a Daring Greatly Manifesto. She has one in her book, but encourages each person to write their own, based on their own personal values. For me, I think it was the first time I was able to succinctly yet specifically capture what I stand for, what I value, and how I want to live and love in this world.

Here's to Daring Greatly.

I value love, loyalty, and belonging.

I believe in extending grace.

In living with integrity.

And that time is one of the most
valuable gifts I can give.

I commit to showing kindness, even when
it’s hard,

acting with authenticity, even when
it’s scary, and

connecting with others, even when
I would rather go it alone.

I will dare greatly by speaking
my boundaries.

By standing my sacred ground when I
would rather run away.

By trusting my feelings with those
who’ve earned the right to hold them.

I will love myself with quiet spaces
and gentle paces.

I will remember that I am worthy
of the love, loyalty, and belonging

that I so freely give to others.

And I will keep my eyes on my Creator;

because I see my reflection there.

You Cannot Predict the Landing

(c) Photos by Gina

 

Leap.

Whether creek or canyon, the invitation is there.

Dare greatly and leap.

You might stick the landing; we like a solid landing, don't we? But--you might slip and skin your knees. Or roll an ankle. Or tumble completely and end up with road rash.

Leap anyway.

And when you crash and burn, know that it's okay to just sit there on the ground for a bit. To take a few moments and catch the breath that's been knocked out of your lungs. Assess the pain. Ask for ice. Recognize that something happened in the air that changed the course of the landing; you could learn from that.

...But wouldn't you know it, you still made it across. The landing doesn't negate the leap. Are you able to feel the sting of the abrasion and still know the joy of the jump? ...Sometimes that's the hardest part.

Stand back up. Brush the debris from your arms and legs. Gently put some weight back on the ankle. Walk slowly over the soft trail--admire the scenery for a bit while the road rash heals.

Up ahead at some point, there will be an invitation to leap again. Go ahead; acknowledge your scars. They're part of what's gotten you to this point. But then, put a hand to your chest and feel the strong beat of your heart. That's really what's gotten you to this point. And it's the only thing that counts moving forward.

Take your running start to its rhythm.

And leap.