IF I WERE BRAVE

If I were brave

I would get bangs.

REAL bangs. Thick ones, like the ones I had when I was a kid.

The kind of bangs that wrap around half of your forehead.

Not the wispy ones that I could just pin back and pretend never happened….

If I were brave,

I would commit.

If I were brave,

I would finally get that tattoo I’ve been thinking about for 15 years.

Should I? Shouldn’t I?

Maybe I would love it.

Maybe I would regret it, but have a good story to tell my grandkids.

A story about the symbol that reminded me that I was strong,

Even when I didn’t feel like it.

If I were brave,

I would quit wavering.

As my mother would say,

‘Piss or get off the pot’.

If I were brave

I would finally learn to surf a shortboard.

Like, learn for REAL.

Commit, fail, commit, fail, commit…

CONQUER.

Not like a PROFESSIONAL conquering, though -

As the Germans say, I’m definitely ‘kein Profi’…..

…but if I were brave,

I would allow myself to finally try.

I’m not getting any younger.

But I could get a little braver.

It’s OK to make a bad decision.

It’s OK to wipeout.

It’s OK to fail.

As the expression goes in surfing,

I’ve been put through the washing machine.

And I’ve come up for air.

Every time.

When I’m old,

And looking back on my life,

I don’t want to be thinking,

“...if only I had been braver”.