On Having (and Finding) Audacity
The word Audacity is making a comeback.
In my experience it’s used a bit tongue-in-cheek. “If there’s one thing affluent white men have, it’s the audacity.”
The two above definitions of the word placed next to one another via Google set me on a thought-provoking spiral. The first, “showing a willingness to take surprisingly bold risks” seems like a good quality to have in a lot of circumstances — but just under it — audacity shows a lack of respect.
I can’t help but wonder — who decided that boldness was worth equating with disrespect?
You know where else we (women, disabled people, queer people, and numerous others) receive messages about audaciousness?
When we make an attempt to take up space.
Some of this comes from our families of origin. Some from systems we are born into like capitalism, white supremacy, classism. As a result, unless we do a lot of therapy — and let’s be real — even then —we also hear these messages from ourselves.
“Who am I to write and share a monologue on stage?”
“Who am I to apply for a job that I may or may not be qualified for?”
“Who am I to speak with authority on any subject — there may be others in the room with more authority, I might get it wrong, I might offend someone, I might step on toes.”
“Who am I to ask for my needs to be met - they seem small in comparison to…”
“What if advocating for my own needs impinges on someone else’s ability to get their needs met?”
Now. I’m an anxious girly - and there are plenty of ways in which I exist in the systems I’ve listed above (and others) with privilege. I’m still learning how to acknowledge and work through that in various ways.
But - and I’m gonna pull you in close for this - this shit?
This is how they divide us.
This is how brilliant, sparkly, competent, smart, engaged, passionate people convince themselves that they are not worthy of good things. Good love, good community, good jobs, good mental health… it’s insidious and it’s prevalent.
Right now, at the moment I type this, my thoughts are running a mile a minute.
I’ve recently come off an amazing and challenging contract gig with Halifax Fringe Festival. During that time, I learned many things — not the least of which was, a reminder of who I am.
I recently had the realization that I didn’t really fully feel free to discover who I was until my mid-to-late thirties. Not only was this a wild series of thoughts that kind of made my world stop for a second, but it also made me think about who else might be still discovering — or discovering themselves anew — at almost 40.
There are lots of things tied up in this for me.
I grew up in church, I went to the post secondary school my family wanted me to go to (because it was accessible, and close to home as opposed to traveling further afield to Ontario to pursue schooling as I originally thought I might, both for undergrad and for a masters), and in lots of ways, yes, I made my own choices - but they were heavily influenced by the comfort and appeasement of others.
I’ve always known that I experienced attraction to women. Always. But I kept that under wraps for fear of losing my connections and community.
I have come to learn that I am a people-pleasing millennial eldest daughter. Allow me to get you your membership card if this resonates for you as well. 😎
Having lived the life I have to this point, I'm not sure I'd have changed much. "Churchland" holds a beloved place in my heart as a deep and true experience of community in my formative years even though in many ways it now feels like I'm a lump of dough that's outgrown that particular cookie-mould. Had I not gone to SMU - I'd have missed out on close connections who remain daily fixtures in my world. Wouldn't change those things. Though most days I feel like a totally different person now, that teenage me would take a minute to recognize, and then would be wildly proud of. That makes my heart happy.
I sure thought I knew who I was in my teens and twenties, but wow, did I hit an evolution when I found community singing, and queer spaces.
When I started having looooong conversations in the passenger side of a dear friend and mentor’s car once a week, and felt more “sparkly” than ever before. That was the experience of having space held, being allowed to take up space, and having my permission slips written by someone who saw me as a full human being with thoughts and emotions, ideas and dreams that were not only valid, but achievable - and I was worthy of them.
Slowly but surely, she continued to sign my permission slips — sometimes in her car, sometimes around her table, sometimes out in the woods under the brightest stars we’d ever seen — until I was prepared to begin writing them for myself.
Being part of Halifax Fringe this year reminded me of my magic.
For years, in my day job, I’ve felt unseen and misunderstood — as a result of my disabilities and a restrictive accommodations process that centers perceived barriers rather than the person.
At Fringe, I found a piece of myself again. Patrons would come through the door, and I would remember things about them - who they have been visiting, what shows they had seen, or from where they had come. This AMAZED people. My partner tells me it’s a special superpower that not everyone has, even though it comes so easily to me that I have a hard time believing her about this.
Through these micro-experiences, I remembered that where I shine best is by being my sparkly, excited, connectable self - with people who share a common thread. The voices of shame and the weight of due process melted away from me for a few weeks as I reminded myself that I am capable of many things - including those that my formal paperwork may cast doubt on.
People often ask me: “How do you get so brave? To do improv, to try stand up comedy, to lead singing… I could never…”
So here’s the thing - most - if not every time, I’m at least a little bit scared. Sometimes big scared.
While I can’t always call them to mind when I’m anxious, I am driven forward by a few beliefs:
- Ideas and opportunities are constantly flying around us - and it’s our job to find them, make them, or take the first tiny step.
Elizabeth Gilbert talks a lot about this in her book Big Magic. If you’re a creative person and haven’t yet read this book, I’d totally recommend it. - Trying a new thing is a great way to shake the dust off.
It’s low risk. If you hate it, fine - but you tried – and there’s a real power in that. Even if nobody knows it but you. - Take time for your younger self.
I can't say this enough.
Soothe them.
Journal.
Play.
Whatever works best for you.
This time is never wasted. - We have one life (this time around). 😉
There are connections to make and lots of joy to treasure hunt for, to split, to share, to create. - Trust yourself and give yourself permission - it’s not audacious - it’s life giving.
If you find yourself struggling with this one, remember the people who wrote/write your permission slips. If remembering them makes your stomach turn - spend some time with that. If remembering them makes you feel held, well-met, and loved, Reach out. If you can’t - channel ‘em. They’re still sparkling all around you and cheering you on. I promise.
In therapy lately, I’ve been doing a lot of “parts work” and inner child stuff. I’ve seen friends posting images of their older selves holding hands with, or hugging their younger selves, remarking on how healing of an experience it can be. This gives me hope, in this wild timeline we're currently living in — to see people healing in these ways. For me, I do find it complex. It’s bumping up against things that I buried, patterns and beliefs that I learned that are entrenched in there pretty deeply - but don’t serve the current, "grown-up" (or shall we say - still growing), version of myself.
It’s tender to go to those places. It’s not easy. It brings up a lot of emotions.
This process has helped to open me up to pondering:
Sweet you - when did you lose your sparkly brilliant audacity? Who told you you were too much, too sweet, too soft, too loud, too brave? What proof is there of this? What stories are you holding onto that tell you you might hurt others by being big, brave, and audacious? Do you not know your own heart, and your own intentions? Yes, the adult parts of us know that intention does not outshine the impact - but - it’s worth trying, and learning. Our adult selves are not immune to the equivalent of scraped knees — now it’s bruised egos, or the realization that our own gaps in understanding and perception can hurt someone. Here’s a secret sweet one: we’re all still learning. I don’t know who told us that growing to adult size meant that we had to have it all figured out. Turns out they've lied to us. That wasn’t very nice.
But - there’s good news. In connection to community, this learning can happen in healthy ways. We can keep growing and learning, and feeling supported. Shame doesn’t have to be in the sidecar now. Maybe one time it had an important job to do - but it can hang out and wait on the sidelines while we try brave things.
It’ll be there – but the playbooks it holds are old.
The textbooks have long been updated, sweet love.
The world needs us to be bold, brave, and audacious now more than ever - reclaiming our stories, our songs, our places, and our voices. The fear of othering and separation no longer hold the steering wheel.
Play.
Be weird.
Cry.
It’s all okay. The right people will love you. And if you don’t see them, trust that they’re coming. The sun doesn’t hide forever, you know?
So, sweet one - what are we reclaiming? ❤️