I didn’t feel very brave when we encountered two puff adders flinging themselves across the hiking trail in TsiTsikamma. The deadly snakes were either in the throes of passion or the throes of violence — or perhaps a sadistic combination of the two.
Deborah walked right up to them, mere inches away, where snake venom could easily meet toe.
I was too nervous for that. As much as I wanted to get closer to the action, I couldn’t seem to make my feet go. So I stood back, relying on my camera’s zoom function to snag a few photos.
I did not feel very brave then. And because I endlessly compare myself with others, I wondered what was wrong with me. What was wrong with me? Why couldn’t I spit in danger’s face? Why was I such a wuss?
I thought about this for a long time, long after we made a wide path around the sexing snakes and walked away.
I’ve decided that courage wears different faces. Even though I can toss my worries away long enough to skydive, I don’t necessarily have the same kind of courage it takes to get within inches of unpredictable reptiles.
I also think this trip takes a lot of courage. Sometimes simply asking directions of a stranger, trusting them to send me in the right direction, can be an act of bravery. Sometimes it means walking into a laundromat, a post office or a grocery store when you don’t speak the language. Sometimes just venturing out of my hostel feels like the most brave thing in the world.
And that’s OK.
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