Brave

Fri, 11 Sep 2026 15:19:57 -0400

I squirmed into my jeans this morning. I gathered too many pens and carefully tucked them into a new bag—one that “felt” like the right bag to take. I walked laps around my living room, shaking my hands like I could flick the nerves from my fingers. And I whispered tearful goodbyes to my sweet, patient husband before climbing into my car.

The girls at the counter know my face now, but they don’t know how badly I want to know their names. They know my order, but they don’t know the effort it takes to stay my trembling. To make eye contact. To not make too much eye contact.

Those seated around me sometimes lift their noses from their pages and screens and smile. I collect those smiles like coins, turning each one over in my head to study the angles, searching for authenticity. For kindness for the sake of kindness. I offer smiles too, eager for that fleeting soul-to-soul connection between two strangers. But even when it happens, the warmth soon fades and tension drags me back under.

It’s not always so intense, but that’s what makes these ventures frightening. Some outings are fine, even lovely, while others demand I coach myself through every movement and breath just to experience sunshine and bumping shoulders with strangers and the din of this ever-moving world.

To experience being human.

Today is one of those days. Sitting in a gorgeous café, a few hours of editing under my belt and a dirty chai in hand, I still feel anxiety’s hand on my back. Pressing. I want the relief of stimming, the comforts of home, the security of my partner beside me. And yet…

I’m here. The sun’s gilding my table and warming my cheeks.

And I’m pondering a favorite one-word mantra. Confidence. That one small word has molded my last few years. Therapy, book goals, major life decisions, motherhood, etc. Countless times, I’ve trudged onward and upward, determined to embrace a little more confidence. To be like all the people out there who don’t think twice when ordering a latte. But what if I got it wrong?

It wasn’t confidence that brought me to this café today. It was bravery. It wasn’t confidence that led me to begin medication, or start therapy, or unpack my past. It was bravery. It’s not confidence that keeps me showing up when my inner dialogue begs me to stay small, stay quiet, stay unseen. It’s bravery.

Doing something, even with the fear, the nerves, the doubt—that’s bravery.

Auditing my life through this lens shifts everything. With this perspective, I see now the confidence I’ve strived for takes the shape of a “thing”. It’s an end destination with an abstract trajectory. A conjured image of who I’d like to be in an ever-shifting future. It keeps my sights pinned upon what I don’t yet have, rather than what I am.

And I am brave.

Not with everything, and not every time, but in ways that are nonetheless worth celebrating.

I am brave.

When I leave this cafe today, I’ll leave behind the old mantra and carry this new one. It feels gentler, and more uplifting, and like the perfect reminder to return to presence. I’ll be who I’ll be in the future. But who I am right now is pretty damn special, and I don’t want to miss taking on the world, trembling hands and all.

Musings on Ariadne Adler

Brave