“Lady the Fearless.” People are starting to call me by her name, and I’m happy to answer for her, though I have not arrived.
Sometimes, the minute I conquer one fear, another one seems to take its place.
Lady the Fearless is not really me. Or, maybe better, she’s not only me. Lady the Fearless is an essence, a zeitgeist. She’s a character.
And, what a character. She is every woman or girl in fiction or in truth who ever fought any battle. She is courage. She is grit and joy and abundant life.
I want to know her well. What she looks like, what her bravery requires, how she’s punished for it, and how she inspires.
I’m hoping that her bravery, like fear, is contagious, and I’m praying for an epidemic–bravery in the air, in our lungs, pumping in our veins.
I look at the next generation of young women and men coming up, the teens, the young 20s, and I’m blown away by their beauty and their depth.
The glossy viciousness of the world they are growing up in, the world we are all growing up in, is stunning. But, the one thing I will not do for them or us, is fear. I choose hope. I’m putting my trust in the bigger thing at play, the greater thing happening as we run into a fierce world, and it sharpens us into warriors.
It is a dark and stormy night.
Lady the Fearless steps to the edge of the cliff and lifts the heavy helmet from her head. She holds it out to collect the rain coming down in sheets.
She brings it to her mouth like a goblet and drinks.
“Lightning water.” She sighs and smiles down at the full moon reflected in the river in the canyon below.
She is not afraid of death or of the battle raging in the darkness; she will ride into it on her white horse like she has done before. She will fly planes into it. She will carry children into it. She will show them how it’s done.
She will shine.