9.12.11

Brave
Hero-bashing seems popular these days; advocating for the non-existence of the dreams us children have dancing in our heads. Hawkeye says that, "Ninety-nine times out of a hundred, [a hero is] somebody who's tired enough and cold enough and hungry enough not to give a damn. I don't give a damn."

Once I was mountain-biking with some friends in a competition. At one point, we took a shortcut through some very difficult switchbacks. It was an intense climb, but I kept pushing harder. I pulled easily ahead of the others; at the top I let our a roar.

Later on, we took a wrong turn that put us about a mile off course. As we were walking back to where we had turned, my legs kept shaking and cramping; we had been out of water for a while. I was exhausted; angry. I wanted to have an excuse to quit. Finally, I threw down my bike and exclaimed that I was finished. "No you're not," a friend said. I picked up my bike and kept walking; ashamed.

There was a man in my mind both times. I hated him for being right and ignored him because he was. Why should I listen when its not what I want? Heresy.

Once during a class a boy in the back was asking a lot of questions; he was having particular trouble understanding that day. Another boy sitting just behind me was quietly laughing and whispering to the girl next to him. I felt this was unfair; it made me angry, but at the same time it felt slightly different from anger, almost...like a sadness. At one point I turned around and rebuked him. He was furious, I was...conflicted. He told me to "get off my high horse." Thinking about it still makes me angry and sad at the same time.

Its a long way to fall when you get bucked off your high horse.

One time I came to a four-way stop and got there just after the car to my left. He hesitated which annoyed me, so I cut in front of him. What do I care if he's too stupid to make a decision? As I passed him, he honked. I looked at him, flipped him off, and sped away. At the next stoplight, he got out of his car and approached me, furious. I had nothing to say; my mind searched frantically for justifications, excuses, lies.

Afterwards, I pulled into a nearby parking lot and wept.

Last night my roommate - who is studying to be a paramedic - needed to practice putting in an IV. I was annoyed that I would be put in such a position. As he stuck the syringe into my hand, pulled out the needle, and began to wipe up my blood, I noticed his hands were shaking. As I think about it now, I wonder: who was the one being brave?