Brave

When I was in the eighth grade I had a massive crush on this boy named Tristan. He was picture perfect, beautiful… I mean really beautiful. Of course, my best friend was just as enamored as I was. We spent our lunches yearning after this illustrious boy who had done nothing to earn our admiration but flaunt his perfection for girls to swoon over. Naturally, I couldn't just talk to Tristan. Because, after all, talking to the boy I was “madly in love with” would just have been absurd. So I lurked behind the scenes as my best friend seized the spotlight and stole his heart. Of course, every girl in the eighth grade was heartbroken, but I felt more than just their trivial jealousy. That night I remember lying in my bed and replaying all the moments I walked by him as he stood alone in the hallways.The moments when he looked my way and I glanced down, embarrassed to meet his eyes even for a moment. I wondered what would have happened if I had made a move, if I had just gone for it.
Two years later, I anxiously climbed the stairs to my first acting class. My hands shook and I broke into a nervous sweat when the teacher announced it was improv day. I had always been completely petrified of improv. Being up on stage with nothing planned, nothing rehearsed, honestly, who would want to do that? Of course, I was the first chosen because, after all, it would be only natural to call on the newbie. I apprehensively rose from my seat and hobbled to the stage, literally crippled by my fear. I was supposed to engender my own scene, no parameters, no guidelines, nothing but my brain. In all of my 15 years of life, I have never been more mortified. It was a disaster to say the least,. I was not funny even in the least bit. On the contrary, I was nothing short of a train wreck . The ironic part is I recall being on stage and thinking of funny things to say, but then I would hesitate, afraid of looking stupid. On the car ride home, I sat in agony, reliving the horrors of the day. My brain replayed every single cringeworthy moment I was on stage. I thought back on all the things I wish I had said, and all the witty comments I could have made, but didn’t.
Just yesterday, I was sitting at the lunch table with my friends. I was in an exceptionally morose mood as I had received a C on a test. As my friends exacerbated me with their playful banter, I tuned them out. The more I ignored them the more I noticed a girl at the table next to us. She was my age, maybe a year older. I was astonished, maybe even a little impressed, for she looked even gloomier than I had. Now that was a feat as nothing is more important to me than my grades. This may sound queer, but I started to watch her. Every time a group of friends sauntered by, she discretely followed them with her eyes. It was apparent she wanted to be apart of them, apart of every giggling group of friends, apart of the infamous social scene of my High school. I pitied her, and I had this ludicrous impulse to sit down next to her and introduce my self. But I though the better of it and forgot about it altogether. The next period, I sat in math class, bored out of my mind, After all, trigonometry isn’t half as exciting as my math teacher thinks it is. My mind began to meander, my thoughts fluctuated from my upcoming tournament to my social studies test I still hadn't studied for. But almost out of nowhere, that forlorn girl crossed my mind. And try as I might, I couldn't get her out of my mind. I couldn't stop thinking about the way she looked at everyone, trying to look preoccupied, but so alone. I drove my self crazy thinking about how casually I had ignored her, when it was apparent she needed a friend.


On the way home from school, the song Brave came on. Sarah Bareilles so eloquently sang what I had been tossing and turning in my head all day. “Say what you want to say and let the words fall out, honestly, I wanna see you be brave”. I started thinking about how I turned a blind eye on that girl so clearly craving companionship. I thought about how when I had been onstage I had been to frightened to follow my gut, and just say what I wanted to. And all the way back in the eighth grade, when I shied away from talking to the “boy of my dreams”. The song suggests that if I had just been brave, the outcome would have been completely different. But, the more I thought about it, the more I am sure that that’s not entirely true.

I have had countless moments when I didn't say what I was thinking, when I held in my words. But maybe those are the moments that shape us. The moments that make us into the people we are. These moments prepare us for what we are going to say next time. These moments make us want to be brave in the future. And instead of regretting what we didn’t say, why don’t we prepare for how we are going to say it next time? There are times when we should speak out, and when its meaningless to keep your words hidden, but contrary to popular belief, I don’t think that is always the case.

Because I didn't talk to Tristan, I ended up getting over him. The harsh light of reality struck, and his spell on me was shattered. I saw that we would have been awful together, I saw that he was a brainless jock, heading fast towards nowhere. Looking back, I’m happy I didn't talk to him, because I might have gotten swept up in his facade of perfection. And I learned something from holding in my words. I learned to look past appearance. I learned that falling for someone’s looks is completely different than falling for someone altogether. A crush is a crush, and 95% of the time, you get over the crush in five weeks. And I would have a completely different insight if I had gone out with Tristan, and to be honest, I'm happy I didn’t.

I didn't blurt out my clever comments during my first improv. And I will always remember what I felt like on stage, standing there not saying anything, looking even more awkward than I felt. But from that moment on, I always say the first thing that pops into my mind when I'm improving. And I trust my instincts when I'm on stage. I wasn't brave, and I didn't say what I wish I had. But I wouldn't have learned this lesson if I had, and I'm a better actress because of it.

And I didn't talk to that solitary girl who caught my eye. True, it haunted me, but now if I see someone alone, I always talk to them, always. And sometimes I wish I would have been brave. But I have to remember that it’s ok that I wasn't, and I wouldn't be who I am, well I wouldn't be me, if I was always brave.