I’ve been thinking a lot lately about what it means to be brave. How hard it can be. How terrifying and rewarding. We’re all of us brave sometimes, but there’s always a risk when practicing bravery: we might fall. We might be toppled. We might get hurt. Ultimately, though, even if we suffer, we’re usually glad we chose the courageous route.

I found a note on my iPhone a while back that said “rumpus – tiny beautiful things – deer sugar.” I had no idea how this note got there or what it meant. I have no memory of writing this note to myself, though it is possible that this happened at some point this summer after a few glasses of wine. It’s also possible that a ghost left the note for me. These scenarios seem equally plausible to me.

A few weeks ago, I was ordering a book online and another book was recommended based on my selection: tiny beautiful things: advice on love and life from Dear Sugar, by Cheryl Strayed. Well. This title rang a bell. “deer sugar” was “Dear Sugar,” an advice column, and “rumpus” was  The Rumpus (duh), the online publication that houses “Dear Sugar.” The mystery now solved (sort of – I still don’t know how that note got there), I ordered the book. Why not, right?

It arrived. It sat on a shelf. I started reading it today.

Within the first few pages:

“Don’t be strategic or coy. Strategic and coy are for jackasses. Be brave.”

Well: I’m trying. I really am. But sometimes I think: I am a born jackass.

I sent my mother a picture of LA. Her response: “What a pretty child…If you are happy, I am happy, too.” She then offered to send me her asparagus and peas casserole recipe for my Thanksgiving responsibility, a recipe for a dish I find totally disgusting and was forced to choke down every Thanksgiving and Christmas as a kid. “No thanks,” I said, “I’m just going to cook some asparagus in garlic, salt and pepper.” Originally, I prefaced this with, “Mom, you know I hate that casserole,” but deleted it as I know my mother loves me and was just trying to be helpful and supportive, all in one fell email swoop.

LA went to Santa Fe with her parents to visit her grandmother for Thanksgiving. It feels like she has been gone for an eternity. Last night we skyped, which mostly consisted of the two of us grinning at each other, all pixely and sleepy. Her mother, who I have not met yet, invited me to join them for Thanksgiving. LA’s response: “Maybe we should all have dinner, first, Mom.” Dinner before an out-of-state family Thanksgiving trip seems more reasonable, but then: I know that LA’s mother loves her and was just trying to be helpful and supportive, all in one fell 7-hour-car-trip-invitation swoop. Needless to say: I stayed in Boulder.

I think of LA as brave. All the time I think of her this way. I want to be brave with her. This is something that seems scary but completely within the realm of possibility. She doesn’t seem to mind my sleepy nonsense talk and she told me I could borrow her sweater.

Thanksgiving day was a lazy day for the most part. I managed to capture these moments in the afternoon sun:

Isobel and Yoshimi: two of many creatures and experiences I am thankful for each and every day.

Matt and I went over to Virginia’s for Thanksgiving festivities. We had a great time. I made a salad (yes, really) and the aforementioned asparagus, and Matt made some delicious spinach and garlic stuffed mushrooms. There was turkey, potatoes, stuffing, pie, and wine. Teresa came over as well and we all ate and drank too much and laughed. Elsie and Moses both got some turkey before all was said and done.

Lately: my heart leaps out and then spirals back into itself, ready and willing.