Kelly Corrigan

Tell me more.

What else?

Go on.

That's how the brave shine, that's all they do.

They say, tell me more.

What else?

Go on.

Even if they're scared of what might happen next, even if they have no training or experience to prepare them for this moment, even if it's late and they have an early flight.

Here's two things the brave don't do.

They don't take over and become the hero.

Like it's a battle and the moves are so obvious, you just pick up a weapon with your ripped pecs and ropey veins and start slaying.

In families, bravery is mostly just sitting there with a posture that communicates, I can hear anything you want to tell me, and a nice, warm face of love that says, this is so hard, but you will figure it out.

Personally, I thought love meant action.

I had no idea it could be so still.

When things get hairy for one of my people, everything in me wants to grab a clipboard, make a to-do list and start calendaring appointments.

Because where there's love, there's attachment.

And I don't care what the gurus say.

What's happening to them is also happening, at least at some level, to us.

and all that can accidentally put us center stage, no longer the coach or the minister, but rather one of the afflicted.

But these gritty endurance types I've been admiring have no self and no needs and no agenda, or at least they know how to override all that for the main character, who is not us.