Brave Little Me

I've had to make a lot of decisions lately. Big decisions. But this last weekend I finally made them. I really did. And so last night, as I was lying in bed getting comfortable for a night's sleep, I didn't thrash or stay up half the night worrying about what I was going to do. Because I already knew. I wasn't worrying about the consequences of my decisions because I knew I had made the right ones. I thought for a moment about how brave I was for making the decisions I did, about how many fears I had faced and about how good it felt to be in control of my own life. Brave little me. An independent adult. I thought about these things. But just for a moment, because I was already drifting off into a blissful slumber.

But suddenly a loud noise made all my relaxed muscles recoil into a tight ball of panic. It sounded like a gunshot. And my first instinct was to run out of my room and crawl into bed with Kat. And I would have, too. If I hadn't had been too scared to move. But I was. And lucky for me, my senses started working before my limbs. It wasn't a gunshot. It was probably just a random firecracker. Another one went off a few minutes later and I heard the distinct difference. I relaxed again and laughed at myself. I'm the Diet Coke of Brave. Just one calorie. Not brave enough.