#40: Little heroism.

Finding the bravery to actually live this one life.

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By the time this reflection post (our ten-week pause-and-look-back ritual) is published, my Italy trip will have receded into the past.

But those two sun-drenched weeks have already left an impact in the halls of my mind. Framed pictures hang slightly askance. Spiderweb cracks climb the walls. Even the ground feels different, though I’m still figuring out just how deep the difference goes…

The effect is more subtle than Vesuvius blanketing Pompeii in ash but similarly sweeping. It’s like there’s a thin layer of magnifying prism particles on everything — giving the light and thus my entire life a feeling of faint, not unpleasant unfamiliarity. 

It’s like life has lost some of its mundanity. I’m not separating moments into special and standard anymore. It’s all special. It’s all worthy of my reverent examination. It’s all art. Maybe because in Italy art is everywhere. Even things that aren’t art are artistic. The cars, the cobblestones, the cappuccinos, the umbrellas dotting the lido jutting out into the sea.

For example, there were these Mediterranean blue ceramic tiles in our Sorrento hotel. I was so moved by these tiles that I looked up their creator. Fausto Melotti turned out to be more than an incredible mixed media artist, he was also a teacher. And since I’m cautiously starting to identify everyone — including myself — as a creative, I was curious about his opinion on what makes a great artist:

“All our effort is to teach the little heroism behind the ability to think with your own brain.”

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Sometimes while writing these posts I don’t feel like an artist.

I feel like the black-robed prophet of loss. The harbinger of weekly doom. The skunk at the garden party, relentlessly pointing out that everyone has something that stinks.

In these moments, I rhetorically cock an eyebrow at the heavens, wondering what I have done to deserve a mission to change the world, paired with a message that makes everyone want to stick their fingers in their ears and holler LALALALA I CAN’T HEAR YOU. I don’t plan on stopping but damn… Sometimes I can’t help but wonder if I’m on the right track.

Which is why I was moved to tears when I received this text from my friend Dwayne:

Every week I am impacted positively and while I know it’s hard work on your end, it’s sincerely appreciated on this end! The Luminist has forced me to reflect on what’s really important in my life and treat people/see people differently. It’s allowed me to see my true calling: helping to develop young people!  “When two or more are gathered in my name…”- thanks and enjoy your weekend!

Dwayne didn’t say, “Thanks for helping me deal with loss, accept being afraid, and work on my ruminating brain better.” That may be the content of The Luminist, but it’s not the ultimate mission. They’re just the workouts that train us for the real mountain:

Daring to create the life we want, rather than settling for the life we have.

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This takes courage.

We have to pivot our effort — even just a slice of our effort — away from work, from obligations, from things we have decided we “should” do but drain us. We have to prioritize the things that actually fill our cup, fill our heart, make us feel alive. 

But first we have to discover what those things even are.

And then we have to let ourselves embrace them.

These both require “the little heroism behind the ability to think with your own brain” — rather than getting swept up in what we think everyone else thinks is "best”.

By talking about the tough stuff, we all get a little less afraid, a little more serious about our priorities, a little more aware of how precious life is, and a little closer to saying “screw it” and being the hero of our own story.

I’m here, alongside you, every week. Cheering you on, yes. But becoming — constantly becoming — the hero of my own evolving story as well. It feels good and scary at the same time. Just like being fully alive.

With just enough bravery,

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The last ten posts:

(Is there one that holds the key to unlocking the next level of your little heroism?)

#30: The beautiful, the painful, the dazzling. How I learned from loss to be unafraid of life.

#31: Not all progress feels like progress. Sometimes it feels like limbo.

#32: I think I can. I think I can. I think I can. It’s time to rewrite, and rewire, the narrative of suffering and struggle.

#33: It’s okay to be afraid. Allowing fear to live, but not to rule.

#34: Acceptance is just the beginning. The powerful first step to rebuilding after losing so much.

#35: Enough waiting to “rest in peace”. Appreciating the good things in life while we’re still around to do it.

#36: The whole is greater than the sum of its parts. Harnessing the power of shared purpose to ignite your projects and passions.

#37: Moving on isn’t leaving behind. Evolving our relationships with those we have lost (part 1).

#38: Reclaiming loss from the grip of avoidance. Evolving our relationships with those we have lost (part 2).

#39: From lifequake to lemonade. The way you tell your story matters.