Still learning to sail my ship

I wish I had more courage.
To paraphrase my favourite author, Melody Beattie: “I may not be a great warrior. I might not lead explorations to the North Pole or climb Mount Everest, but I still need courage.”
I need courage daily, it seems, and most certainly almost every time I come home after a long day at work or after a time on a weekend getaway.
I’m still learning to make peace with living alone and how to accept the reality of where I am in my life, and to accept it for what it is. I’m still learning how to juggle the many unbalanced moments in my neck of the woods that revolve around the upkeep and maintenance required here as a single homeowner.
I’m also still learning how to design just the right mix between work and play.
All of these things require courage—and I need courage every day.
This avenue of thought has been ruminating in my mind of late because I was clued in recently to the fact that the social expectations of recovery from tragedy and trauma and loss continue to plague the ones who live in the mire of these past sorrows.
And I’m here to admit that even after two-and-a-half years since my life changed in an instant, I remain a student of adaptation. And I still need courage every day to go forward in a way that honors the love I have for the journey and for myself.
I continue to have a really good support base in my little corner of the planet. I have family and friends who make a day better and those who make life better, and at least one who provides both for me in an incomparable way.
Yet I still need courage every day to believe that change is good and change is positive and change is possible. It’s always a possibility, right Dad?
I have read and written, and talked and been counselled, and cried and shouted and swore an oath to move forward in any way I can and, still, it takes courage to do that every day.
And sometimes I don’t have any courage to bring to the plate. I still am learning that that empty plate is okay, too. I’m still learning that it’s okay to be carried when my courage is nowhere to be found.
Good friends figure that stuff out and have strong arms.
“Honest friends are doorways to our souls, and loving friends are the grasses that soften the world.” And the special friend who, after quality time together, asks me if my “tank” is full—and means it—that, too, takes courage.
Brene Brown said, “Courage starts with showing up and letting ourselves be seen.”
Here I am.