Be Brave, Put On Those Carpet Slippers and Stride Out

Did you do anything courageous today? Was merely getting out of bed an act of courage? I hope getting out of bed was an act of embracing what was coming in this day. If getting up didn't require bravery, what courageous thing did you do today? Not that we have the opportunity to be overtly brave every day, but some days require more courage than others. Have you been brave lately? In the last week, month, year? I hope you are cultivating your courage muscle because we all are going to need to be brave at some point.

Bette Davis said that growing old wasn't for sissies. She was right about that. "They" say that the positive thing about growing old is the wisdom we attain. I suppose it may be wisdom that lets the old ones see the misstep a person is about to take and exactly where that step will land them. Perhaps it is wisdom that says, "Wait and see." "Forgive." "Don't judge until you have walked a mile in her shoes." "Ask why." "Don't take yourself too seriously." "Do you really want to do that?"

I cannot think of myself as wise, but I do see myself as experienced in life. That experience allows me to see things from a wider, longer perspective-a view that sees the probable end or consequences of an act. Hey, maybe I can see the future! Is that wisdom or is it just experience? Does it matter what we call it?

Acquiring wisdom as we age is supposed to be the great trade-off for losing our youthfulness. As for me, the jury is still out on that one. I'm not sure about how wise we get, but I recognize that we do need courage as we age. Courage will be the companion that allows us to embrace our lives, even with the limitations that sneak in as we add on years. One interesting thing about aging is how we respond to it. Will it be with whining and bitterness or with wit, wisdom, and courage?

The following poem is one I "taught" in tenth grade classes. What those 16-year-olds got from it, I cannot say, but it speaks to me more and more as I get older. I hope I can find my carpet slippers when I need them.

Courage by Anne Sexton


It is in the small things we see it.
The child's first step,
as awesome as an earthquake.
The first time you rode a bike,
wallowing up the sidewalk.
The first spanking when your heart
went on a journey all alone.
When they called you crybaby
or poor or fatty or crazy
and made you into an alien,
you drank their acid
and concealed it.

Later,
if you faced the death of bombs and bullets
you did not do it with a banner,
you did it with only a hat to
cover your heart.
You did not fondle the weakness inside you
though it was there.
Your courage was a small coal
that you kept swallowing.
If your buddy saved you
and died himself in so doing,
then his courage was not courage,
it was love; love as simple as shaving soap.

Later,
if you have endured a great despair,
then you did it alone,
getting a transfusion from the fire,
picking the scabs off your heart,
then wringing it out like a sock.
Next, my kinsman, you powdered your sorrow,
you gave it a back rub
and then you covered it with a blanket
and after it had slept a while
it woke to the wings of the roses
and was transformed.

Later,
when you face old age and its natural conclusion
your courage will still be shown in the little ways,
each spring will be a sword you'll sharpen,
those you love will live in a fever of love,
and you'll bargain with the calendar
and at the last moment
when death opens the back door
you'll put on your carpet slippers
and stride out.

Anne Sexton