Introducing Courage Letters
Reviving my writing with new courage.
On September 5th, 2024 I woke up from a childish excitement filling me up. The feeling had begun to spread from my bellybutton into my body the night before. No, the feeling was planted way early. Since touching the ground in Portland on August 5th I could feel my sore roots looking for soft soil to dig in and grow. For five days we simultaneously packed, moved, and unpacked boxes, found and changed places for things, and made multiple hundred decisions. And then everything was moved. It was time to start living the life I had drawn out in the past months. I was excited. I was exhausted. The first few days felt sticky. Days of exploring streets that felt foreign and rough. Just as the plants were finding new ways, orienting themselves toward the rhythm of the sunlight, getting used to the air on a seventh floor, to AC versus no AC, to fresh air and closed windows, grey mornings, and heatwaves hitting Oregon, I too was readjusting. Looking for my courage. And just like our monstera, I developed new petals. Mathilda grew four new leaves in four weeks. I found the streets and spaces I felt comfortable walking in and unfolding. And now, four weeks later, I woke up a year older. 364 more days of being in my twenties. The feeling that started in my belly button was now tickling my fingertips.
Nine years and a week ago, my first summer in Berlin was coming to an end. And with it, my teenage years were too. In un-surprising Berlin fashion, I gifted myself something I had dreamt of for most of my teens: a tattoo. The word courage on my inner left biceps. A word and a design that I had carried with me for long time. (Or long considering I was only 19). It was a gift to wrap up my teens, but really a gift for my twenties.
Courage didn’t come without some tears and some drama. Discussions were tipped off in our extended family and years later ink in my skin is still a persona non grata. Looking back I can’t help but laugh, gratefully, at the fact, that the biggest thing I did to disappoint my parents was getting a small tattoo. Only, for me, it was not small. I got myself my courage. And it took me – it is taking me — this decade to grasp what that means.
Whenever I was scared of something, I joked that I had courage in my upper arm, so I had to do it — that worked for cheerleading stunts and intimidating conversations, starting a new job, or moving to new places*.* I referred to it as my reminder to live with my big toe always poking at my comfort zone.
Courage is not just jumping off literal cliffs and going on adventures. It is disappointing your parents; it’s breaking up with someone; shattering expectations. It’s finding your truth. It’s telling it. It’s being freaking scared, terrified even, and doing it anyway. And it’s unfolding your life fully in the parameters you’re here to play with.
Not a day goes by that I am not grateful for the circumstances I get to live my life in. And while I am incredibly privileged and aware of it, I still need to allow myself to struggle. To have a tricky time, to be overwhelmed or angry or sad or scared. Scared of big things like the future. Scared of ridiculous things, like hitting the publish button at the end of this page.
When I first set up this account, it was inspired by the idea of publishing the stories I wrote at journalism graduate school. Stories from pockets of my funny little life, homework prompts, and glimpses of the wild overwhelming six months between moving out of my place in New York in March and into our home in Portland come August. And with every week, I struggled to hit that button.
Who was I writing this for? Was this too personal? Was it even personal? Who cared? Did I even care?
The answers: me, maybe, maybe, it doesn’t matter, I do. And that’s all that matters.
In June 2024, halfway into my time between places, I spent five weeks in New York (again) for a job. In a blip of inspiration, I reached out to another German freelance journalist and asked him for coffee and advice. To my pleasant surprise, he said yes. He planted a list of thoughts and asked me the question that I keep coming back to:
What do I want to achieve with what I do?
This question is not about who I want to work for, the amount of money I want to make, where I want to live, or the milestones I want to hit. The question is: what am I doing all this for? Why?
I looked at the jobs I had in my twenties, the careers I tried on: advertising, teaching yoga, creating, writing, podcasting — what’s my why? Each time I landed on one word: courage. I want to share courage. I want to give courage. I want to inspire courage.
I write to make sense of the world around me. And I know I’m not the only one who’s trying to do that.
When I started this, it came from the courage to share. When I stopped, I’d lost the courage to share.
Thanks to the beautiful and overwhelming rollercoaster I tend to turn my life into I got lucky to meet incredible people who give me courage. Experiences and conversations that give me courage.
So that’s what this is: All the things that give me courage; stories that lift me up, inspire, and shift my perspective, and that might spark it in you, too. Interviews. Profiles. Compilations of Raw thoughts and honest opinions. Because that’s what life is: a compilation of things.
Letters to courage, letters from courage, and letters of courage: Courage letters.
