Being brave

Today I was telling someone how I ended up where I did, and he asked if I had family or friends here; or if I was married or anything, I said ‘no’ to all of the above and that it’s just me and my dog. I told him that I moved up on an instinct telling me I need to be here, so I did it.

Which is the truth.

He proceeded to say that I’m really brave to have done that.

He was not the first person to tell me that I was ‘brave’. In fact, he was probably about the fifth; or maybe even more; I’ve actually lost count.

I don’t really know what to say about this to be honest. I never considered myself brave for moving to a place on a whim, where I know absolutely no people in the town or area. To me, that wasn’t an act of bravery, it was an act of necessity. It was an act of; well, ‘me’. Gypsy-ing my way through life and the world is what I do. So when it came time to move, I did it without question, and I’m quite comfortable moving to a place where I don’t know a single soul, and have to put myself out there to meet new people.

Sometimes when I think about it, I can see how it was kind of a brave thing. Though, to be fair, I have friends and family between 2-3 hours drive away, so in reality, that’s not too far.

But.

Tonight I don’t feel brave at all.

Tonight I feel broken. I know it’s almost completely hormones, mixed with long and slightly stressful times at work, but tonight I feel lost and alone.

And I keep having this line from a song repeat in my head “I’m just trying to be brave”.

So I want to say a big thank you to those people who have considered me to be strong and brave that I made these huge life steps that I have. Because it reminds me of the reasons why I did do it; and I did it for me.

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