Vitamin Brave

The weather here in New Mexico has taken a turn for the vicious. The cold has been bitter - the wind merciless - the night absolutely intolerable. For all these reasons, my little brood and I have spen the better part of the past month growing more and more infected with cabin fever.

Yesterday, it got to the point of near-desperation. I felt as though my body were dying from the outside in. My skin, so used to sunlight and wind, felt positively lifeless! This translated inward to my lack of physical energy, which translated even further inward to my mental outlook and emotional state. It became not just desirable to spent a few minutes outdoors - now it was an absoolute necessity.

"That does it!" I announced after lunch. My three children and their visiting friend, a little boy, looked up at me. "We're going outside right now. Get your coats on!"

"No, no!" protested my crowd. "It's so cold!" (Obvioulsy, I had conditioned them to this belief.)

"Yes, yes!" cheered their little guest. "Where's my coat?" Clearly, somebody's mom had been sending somebody outside on a regular basis. I felt a pang of conviction.

Of course, I also felt a pang of fear. The body - no matter how desperate for regeneration and health - also shows a preference for comfort. I glanced down at my bare legs (yes, I'd been running around indoors in a pair of shorts.) Could I do this? I began hopping around, warming up my blood for the inevitable shock of the wind. As I zipped up coats, tied shoes, located jackets, and ushered children out the door, I hyped myself up, body and mind, for a successful venture outdoors. The sun was shining, after all: How bad could it be?

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The moment I stepped outdoors, the cold hit me. My poor legs quivered in shock, and I nearly lunged back for the door without thinking. But the expectant faces of my little charges made me hesitate ... and instead I dashed out into the backyard with a holler.

"Come on!" I yelled. "Let's play ball!"

So followed a rousing game of 'Who can miss the ball the most times?' - with me taking a decisive lead. But it didn't matter. I dashed. I darted. I dove. I leaped. Soon, my exposed skin had forgotten just how cold it had been, and my whole body began enjoying the exposure to outdoor air.

The kids weren't complaining, either, so I suggested a short walk. We set out for a block-long adventure that lead us past the silent houses of our neighbors and deeper into the mysterious aloneness of winter.

And do you know what? Rather than being sinister and miserable, the chill fully intoxicated us all! We leaped and danced - we ran and played. We positively cavorted in what must have looked like fatally dangerous conditions to our neighbors. The sun! The wind! The endless sky - and unerneath it the high, white ceiling of clouds, ruffled with light and undergirded in the gray foundations of a possible storm. It was glorious! The children's faces grew rosy. Noses began to run. The wind whipped our hair and coat sleeves, but we pressed on.

And when we finally - finally - turned around to head home, we carried our exuberance like a banner. The day could not have been more alluring. The sun, for all its reduced winter heat, seemed somehow tender. The shadows, the goldening light of approaching dusk, the leaves as they swirled ahead of us in eddies - each of these tiny details spoke volumes of life to our souls.

We arrived home breathless and chilly, but also alive, renewed, and even a little bit hesitant to return to our enclosure of comfort. Winter had worked her magic on us, after all. Our small act of bravery - choosing a risk instead of submitting to a prediction of impossibility - had reaped far greater rewards than we had expected. The rest of the afternoon was spent in pleasurable play - each of the children, and for sure, their glowing caretaker, illumined from within by this one simple shining moment of joy.

Perhaps it wasn't bravery that sent us out there, after all. Perhaps it was obedience. Obedience to the small Voice within that provides insight into the real needs of our souls, the votes of our minds notwithstanding. Perhaps I'll never know the real answer ... but you can bet I'll don my tennis shoes with far less hesitation the next time the urge to explore washes over me - and I hope my children will, too.