Bravery vs. Courage?

What do y’all think is the difference between bravery and courage? I’ve heard different things from different places.

For me, bravery equals survival, holding shit together because you have no other choice. Standing up, because if you stop moving, you’ll fall. No heart to it, just grit.

Courage, for me, feels fuller. Whereas bravery is fighting because you have to, courage means there’s heart to it, you’re fighting for something, something more than just survival. I even think it has nothing to do with survival. It has to do with life, and love. That there are people behind you who are worth fighting for, who you’d protect fiercely because you love them. Even just yourself, loving yourself, but I still think that’s closer to bravery… okay, no, that probably counts as courage. Because courage is an extra push of wind to fill your sails. Hope, happiness, love. Moving forward is easier with that. (yes, I guess it still counts even if it’s just loving yourself.. love is the key part of it).

Which is why I hate it that everyone calls me brave.

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Always the satellite, never the planet

So things suck with my family, but nothing is new there. I have never ever ever ever been a planet for anyone, people on the same planet, who are cool with the other people on their planet. I’m the satellite, far away. Sometimes I’m not even allowed in their orbit.

The girl I’m seeing doesn’t want to be planets either.

I’m a bit tipsy, and maudlin. I never want to drink again.

I am so, so tired of never having my feet on the ground with anyone. People need some gravity.. some place to have their feet on the ground. No one wants me on their ground, and I am ensconced in self hatred right now, because my ‘feet’ must be dirty and stupid to never be worth anyone else’s energy or time.

My sister is kind of a kindred spirit, but she doesn’t give a shit either. I have cousins who do care, but their mom is like Mrs. Coulter. I can only tell them with my eyes that I’m there.

That aunt used to be my favorite aunt, but now she flips on a dime to that awful metallic mode. She cut me off for a year recently. I’m only semi allowed to exist in her orbit now.

I can tell I’m losing my cousins too. I’m losing them.

I’ve lost my ‘family of origin’. Going back to the house for holidays is hell. You know that feeling of when it’s really really cold out, and you come inside your house, but your muscles and bones still hold the memory of the intense cold for awhile? I’m doing that. I don’t know what’ll help. I fucking hate drinking, but I did it anyway, and also did it nearly every night at my parents’ house to try killing the parts of me that cared, at least for a time.

Now.. is not a good time. I want to curl up and freeze to death, because nothing is warm.

I believe in stories.

Some people have religion, have faith. Some people don’t.

I am neither of these things.

I believe in stories, ties that create strong roots and ropes that can anchor us home. I believe in the unshakable myths that have been carefully folded again and again. Tales passed down as a way to explain things, but also as a way to drive back the dark.

But more than this, I believe in the stories of family. Through stories, the deep sigh of tired soil smiles warmly as the tree grows there, again and again, stronger than before. Past, present, and future splash freely, catching the sun, and we laugh as we drink it all in.

And we are loved.

I wish I were a courtesan

I’ve been well enough to be able to hear my body, lately, to be awake enough to feel like I’m absorbing the experiences of life a little more, and thus more able to respond to it.

So, I thought it’d be a good idea to do something about being lonely.

That kind of lonely.

I ‘went walking’ with a couple of people, casually, but there was dishonesty abound.

All of my ‘walking’ experiences have been horrible, few as they’ve been. I know I shouldn’t have done it, because of how awful my past record in that department has been, but I thought this time would be different. But alas, the definition of insanity.

I’ve been hollowed out and morose since then, been doing stupid things that my body doesn’t like. I feel used and lied to.

I wish I knew of a way that wasn’t skeevy online that would work for me.

But the friend department is mostly empty, so is the family one. And I’ve been thinking on those, that those should be steady and have something in them first, right? And for so long they haven’t. And yet still, as they haven’t, so then I haven’t even considered the romantical basket.

I am too skittish, I think, for something more traditional like marriage. I don’t know what I’d do with myself in a relationship (no, I’ve never had one). There was this movie on a courtesan and this nobleman and they were in love but couldn’t marry, he already was, class, all that, so it was a long term thing with them.

Why can’t I be a courtesan?

No Regrets?

I don’t really believe in that, because I think that ignores other humans on your life path.

But I want to believe in speaking from your heart.

I don’t know how to human. At least the people who know me know this. For a long time, and still, I am just puzzle pieces shoved in a tight drawer. I want to share them with other humans, but don’t know how because they’re all messed up and don’t make a whole and pretty picture, and what comes out is that jarring, a mess of puzzle pieces. I’ve tried to find my people, people who are patient with a jagged and hilly road. I think my people know though that beneath it are doubloons and seashells and feathers.

So I don’t know the rules, and my people are the ones who don’t mind.

I went back to my old college a few days ago, to see old friends. It was on the scooter, so you can imagine That. So the drive was a nightmare, the distance, the potholes, the fact I could only go 40 at best when it was supposed to be 50. And my focus problems. I still think I would do better on a motorcycle though, there’s more to pay attention to. I’ve done that before.

So I saw those friends, and one, who was the bestest friend of all, the magic was just gone. I’ll miss him.

I haven’t spoken to any of them for a long time, but they were there, most of them, and I was glad to see them, scooter be damned.