After speaking to a few people, I wanted to write about bravery. First, I wanted to understand what that means for people. The meaning seems to be universal from all perspecitves: The ability to face fears, feel discomfort and the willingness to learn lessons that lead to growth.
There have been a few times in my life that I have been given this moniker. I’ve shrugged it off due to the lack of evidence from my soul. What does bravey feel like? After long thinking and reflection, I came up with this: It’s the acceptance of the palapatating heart during adversity. It’s the flexibility around change. It feels like your heart is being chewed while still in your chest cavity. It also encompasses exhileration of accomplishment at the end of the struggle, but that is only the relief at the end. I would liken the feeling of bravery to pain. Humanity does it’s best to avoid this, and I am of course excluding those careers that forces one into danger on a daily basis, there you are not allowed to question the self.
As of late it has come to mind that I don’t want to be brave. I hate the idea of just living my life equalling bravery, but at some facets that is exactly what it is. To travel and seek safety in a culture where I no longer have to face authoritarian agression, especially from perceived authority, like the every day citizen. You have to admit that certain elements in American society are now so brazen and violent. To be alone, with little understanding of language and people is brave. I’ve made a point in the past to inform my students traveling to a confusing place like the U.S. that they themselves are brave. In time these kinds of things will change the longer I am away.
The sense of bravery is slow to wear away. To acclimate the mind, body, and soul is a process that is never fast. It’s amazing to see how everything is placed. Once the dominoes are stacked in line then you have to move carefully in order to miss the chaos of their tumbling, because as humans we do not choose the design for them to collapse. It never becomes a colorful spiral or even another mosaic matching what the soul truly wants to project. Now, my heart is in the last bites and mastication. It’s ready to be swallowed. I’m ready to be swallowed, but fear the other side. Now, there have been things I have dove into not knowing the outcome, better yet, not imagining what outcomes were even possible. Yet, I made those decisions. Sometimes those decisions haunt me to this day, because the future can play cruel tricks. Create a turn where there once wasn’t. A cliff can appear and you have to decide to fall/jump off or climb slowly down. And which of those decisions is brave.
Recently, a few people have decided to jump off. Into the unknown abyss. As most were celebrities we let into our lives on a semi regular basis we are shocked and saddened. These people made us laugh, cry, question and consume. There was something about them that made us hold them close to us. No doubt there are holes in our hearts but for many others who were actually close and knew them there are caverns. I never had a Jack Spade bag, but knew of Kate Spade from the beginning. We can agree that she was extremely young to die. I enjoyed more than few of Anthony Bourdain shows, mostly before CNN picked them up. Having come to Vietnam before his first show about the country, I just loved how he was able to spin his words to match my feelings about this country, their people and of course their food.
It was a shock and I was angered by AB’s death. It happened to come at a time where I was struggling with my own loneliness and discomfort in being of this world. I’ve come to recognize that I’ve always maintained a discomfort of being in this shell of a body. The discomfort can be so encompassing that lying motionless in a hammock swinging in the breeze of an electric fan in my own apartment living my own life, relief can appear to be far from reach. I think my anger came from being left here. How could he leave when I struggle in a sense to stay? I used to think suicide was a weak action. A cop out. How dare you fucking escape?
The more I live the more I struggle to not be judgemental. It’s more my goal to come to compassion and understanding of things outside of me, especially when what is inside me is so confusing at times. I try to key in to the type of filter I am seeing the world and temper it. I try to hold the judgement down, because what the fuck do I know?
AB lived a full life. I think he just couldn’t do anymore. He literally couldn’t fit it all in. Why should I expect him to do more than him. In certain ways he had so much beauty in his life, but at the price of previous ugly. There is always a balance. He knew about escape as he had a past with heavy drug abuse. He knew about life because we watched him travel, eat, speak and expand right before our eyes. 61 is a young age. I have no idea what the next 20 years of my life could even look like and I try not to. I want to be present. We have to admit that we saw AB present. All I can do is salute him.
To those left behind, someone who knows someone who committed suicide, I know they will find it difficult to believe that suicide could be beautiful. To choose when you’ve had enough. With AB and knowing what I know of his life I find it beautiful in a sense. To have had three or four lifetimes in one. I respect when someone might think they’ve had enough. He didn’t leave without regret. His regret is felt for those he left behind. I hope they can still honor him and the struggles he did survive. He took many steps in life we all would consider to be brave. There isn’t a thing he didn’t try. I can recognize how strong he was to live as long as he did. I recognize how brave it is to grow in the spotlight, but feel the darkness inside.