Courage – Week 3
Where I reflect on doing what's important, rest as bravery, Montaigne, and Dutch courage.
Three times over the week, I had the same conversation. Urgent matters have a strength of their own. Not so what’s merely important. That is why we should actively focus on what matters, but has no strength of its own to call on our attention, the ‘important-not-urgent’ corner of the matrix. The rest will take care of itself. Courage, then, demands that we resist the sirens of urgency, bear with the dissonance inside, and a nagging sense of disconnect.
I had a list of difficult things to do, which included reaching out to friends or family members I neglected, and a venue for an event I’m co-organising. I do that as a batch on Monday, feeling an immediate sense of lightness. Later in the week, pressed by the backlog of a past heatwave, I hold on to seemingly secondary commitments. Calls with Europe on a new uplifting project, an evening dinner with a friend, and time off coming up.
Sticking to plans we know to be good, even when the circumstances change and something feels off, is where courage meets hope. I had this trip to Sydney planned, using up old airmiles and squatting a friend’s hotel room. Instead of inspiring joy, it started looming like a deadline, preventing me from getting things done. I stuck with the dissonance, and didn’t cancel. Friday night, after two long calls from my friend’s place, I start to feel tension melting in my shoulders. We wake up at 5:15 on Saturday – speaking of difficult things – and from the plane, I find myself gazing at a glorious sunrise over the hills of Victoria, in awe of the country’s beauty.
It's easy to get in a rut and work ourselves down a spiral. That’s why Sabbath is a spiritual practice. We must learn to pause, and do something different. Preferably, before it becomes urgent. On Saturday, my friend and I indulged in one of our beloved suburban explorations. We followed Apple Maps from the Kingsford tram Terminus to One Drop Brewery via public golf courses and non-descript suburban landscapes. Then we wandered through the back streets of an industrial zone, over a drain, across a highway, and along a fence to the airport lookout by the beach. Extraordinary view. Then it was a walk to the port, on a bus, through the bush, and along sandstone cliffs to Coogee. Thirty kilometres later, we finished the day with a picnic on Rushcutter’s Bay, faces gleaming from heat and sun, sweaty, and enormously happy. This deep-seated feeling of physical well-being was the reward of courage: daring to take time off.
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Sunday morning, I’m still in Sydney with that same friend. We’re walking along the water in the Botanical Gardens, heading towards the Opera House. Hundreds of runners in bright gear pass by us, arms dangling and shaking, with an occasional ‘sorry’ when they pass on the right. I start my courage week public dance routine, and feel a little burst of happiness. My friend clenches, takes one step away, and utters a gentle ‘oooh no!’
I laugh and dance for a few minutes, then we reflect on his reaction. I’m genuinely curious. Dancing is no more disruptive running. Runners are not only well-accepted, but sometimes admired. Isn’t running good for your health? Plus you get a high. Why doesn’t the same applies to dancing on the street? ‘I guess I’m just socially sensitive’ my friend replies. Doing what everyone else does carries no risk of rejection. Standing out, however, takes bravery.
Montaigne, in one of his Essays, describes how he survived a tempest at sea. After the fact, his friends praised him for his courage. ‘Not so,’ he responds, ‘if I had realised how much danger I was in, I would have been terrified. But I was blessed with blunt senses, and so didn’t flinch in the moment.’ We might see the essence of courage as looking resistance straight in the eye, and doing it anyway. In practice though, getting things done ‘in spite of things’ takes a roundabout approach. Including blunt senses. I count myself lucky to be slightly socially unaware.
Not everyone is equally blessed, but we can compensate for nature’s failings. Dutch courage is a glass of strong gin. My equivalent – widely shared I believe – is a morning cup of coffee. If not for bravery, long blacks work wonders for endurance and zest. Early in the week, I had to deprive myself of my daily dose, in preparation for a check-up. I had an hour of coaching in the morning, without my normal caffeine boost. It felt heroic. After the scan, I wept over a cup of tea as tiredness loosened. Then I started on the chocolates.
Caffeine and sugar may well be part of what I nede to boost my own courage, together with exercise and other endorphin boosters. I thought back on Montaigne, though, and his blunt senses. My work calls for heightened sensitivity. In a world that I see going mad, I often find myself reeling. So, maybe, I could cultivate intentional oblivion. Put blinkers as an alternative form of Dutch courage, and be bold enough to take a rest from the news, in order to get things done.