This morning I found myself thinking about courage.
Not the kind that makes headlines. Not the kind that requires grand gestures. The quieter kind.
For years, many of us have carried a habit of thought that arrives whenever we want to try something new:
What will people think?
What fascinates me is how much authority we give that question.
A few weeks ago, I felt a strong urge to move my morning quiet time to the French doors that open onto my Juliet balcony. Every morning, my soul seemed to whisper the same thing: open the doors, place your favorite chair there, and sit.
Simple enough.
Except my first thought wasn’t excitement.
It was, What will people think?
People walking below could look up and see me sitting there with my eyes closed, enjoying a few quiet moments before the day begins. For some reason, that made me uncomfortable.
Then one morning I started laughing.
Who, exactly, was going to care?
And more importantly, why did the imagined opinion of a stranger hold more authority than my own relationship with my soul?
That question changed everything.
The moment I stopped giving so much power to what others might think, courage appeared without being summoned. I didn’t have to manufacture it. I didn’t have to force confidence. It arrived naturally when I chose alignment over approval.
Now those quiet moments at the balcony have become one of the most precious parts of my day.
I almost missed them.
I almost turned down a gift that nurtures me because of a habit of thought that serves me no longer.
It makes me wonder how much we have all lost over the years because we worried about what someone else might think.
A hat we never wore.
A class we never took.
A hobby we never tried.
A dream we quietly tucked away.
A simple pleasure we denied ourselves.
Perhaps courage begins the moment we ask a different question.
Instead of, What will people think?
What if we asked, Who has authority in my life?
The opinions of others?
Or my relationship with my own soul?
