The Absurdity of Courage

I never imagined a book about waiting would feel so relevant to me, but When the Heart Waits kept meeting me where I am. One passage among many that I highlighted describes Chicken Little. Not as a story for children, but as an analogy for the fearful self that reacts before it reflects. The self that anticipates disaster where there may only be discomfort. The self that sees an acorn and assumes the whole sky is dropping. Sound familiar? If you’re one of those people too, I see you.

I recognized myself in that chapter.

Not constantly, not dramatically, just in the subtle places where fear creeps in and whispers quietly before possibility has a chance to even speak up. It’s the instinct to brace, to protect, to stay small because small feels familiar. Growth may be meant for us, yet we cling to what we know.

And maybe that’s what this pivot is revealing.

I didn’t crash or fall apart. Nothing exploded. From the outside looking in, I have a beautiful life — one that I am privileged to have, where I am loved, protected, and nurtured. I simply started to notice that the fire I built much of my identity around had cooled off. The ambition was still there, but it felt like I was slowing down and losing motivation rather than thriving. I could still perform, still deliver, still be who I’ve always been, but the energy behind it was different. Thin. Tired. Ready for something I couldn’t name. UMPH.

This wasn’t a leap into clarity. It was an admission. And once you notice the shift, you can’t un-notice it. I am now in the thick of it.

So I stopped forcing myself to run at the same speed, and instead I’ve been learning how to wait. Not wait as in sit still, but as Sue Monk Kidd describes, active waiting. “What the hell does that mean anyway?!”, I asked myself.

Well, it’s a kind of internal work that doesn’t show itself outwardly. It’s the chrysalis stage. The dissolving, the re-forming, the quiet shaping of the next version of myself before anyone else sees evidence of it.

It’s uncomfortable but incredibly honest and vulnerable. And what I realized was this isn’t the first time I’ve sat with the idea of “becoming”, either.

Rewind to 2018, when Michelle Obama’s memoir Becoming was released. She wrote, through her own personal experiences, that life is an ongoing process of growth, self-discovery, and evolution. That we are never finished “becoming” who we are, no matter the age or stage we’re in. It isn’t a groundbreaking idea on its own — we all evolve, some of us more steadily than others — but we all experience setbacks too. Small ones. Big ones. Earth shattering ones. The kind you never plan for, yet they arrive anyway. I’ve experienced them all.

Naturally, I read the book and I even saw her live in person when she was touring for the book. I took it for what it was, but it wasn’t until now that I slowly started putting all the pieces together and connecting the dots. Classic Andrea: the ultimate late adopter.

Here’s the thing: Becoming isn’t glamorous. It’s slow, inconvenient, internal and oh-so frustrating, but it’s movement, even when it doesn’t look like progress.

Michelle Obama made the ongoing evolution feel human and real. Sue Monk Kidd made the stillness and waiting feel purposeful. I’m somewhere in the middle; evolving slowly, waiting intentionally, becoming in real time.

So I’m letting myself be here, in the middle of the becoming. Not with certainty or answers, but with absolute awareness.

Courage, I’m learning, isn’t loud, it’s steady, patient and it’s choosing not to retreat just because fear has a louder voice than trust.

What I do know for sure is that I am changing, even if I can’t see the full shape yet, and that feels like something worth naming.

Maybe the sky isn’t falling but maybe this is just the sound of a new life tapping for attention.