Brave Enough
Letters on fear, courage, and meaning by

I grew up with my head in the clouds not in daydreams, but in fears. It wasn’t courage that brought me down, but something softer.

Dear friend,

Six weeks after I was born, my family moved to escape the apocalypse. My father's fear drove us from our dream home to the mountains.

Nothing happened. But the fear stayed and in different ways, it shaped both of us.

For the next 20 years, I lived with constant anxiety about The End Times. From nuclear attacks to mass starvation, there was always another threat to prepare for.

Imagine someone drifting past clouds, terrified of what's inside each one. He swings a sword through the mist, but it passes right through. There's no way to win.

This is what anxiety feels like.

I see myself in this image only the fears have changed: not vaccines or chemtrails, but going broke or not being enough.

It's become clear why I pursued self-improvement and entrepreneurship after my childhood: I wanted control.

I thought if I built enough armor, I could keep the clouds from getting to me. And it worked sometimes. But the armor was heavy. I was tired of carrying it alone.

My wife asked me recently how I think our relationship has influenced me.

Love changes the image.

Instead of drifting alone, there's another figure far below, standing on solid ground. They're gently tugging a string tied to the man, pulling him down from the clouds. When he lands, they wrap him in a hug.

The man softens and sighs in great relief.

Love doesn’t just pull him to the ground it gives him the courage to fight the battles that actually matter.

Now, he can face the real threats and not by himself.

Those around him help fasten the armor, then cheer as he charges into life's battles, grounded in love.

The fight doesn't disappear. But now it's shared. And when love shares the fight, it makes you braver for it.

It isn't always easy to come down. We might resist the tug, claiming those on the ground don't understand our battle.

We believe the fight truly is up there. But it's not.

I still drift toward the clouds. Maybe I always will. But I'm learning to feel the string in my hands and let it draw me home.

Who, or what, is holding yours?

I hope you’re well.

With love,
Ryan

P.S. If this made you think of someone, I’d be honored if you shared it with them.