My own fear is no longer an acceptable copilot. If what I dread will meet me, I will not duck. I will not alter course, I will not tuck my tail. If the same outcome will be true either way, I will face it as the woman I am. To have rearranged myself only to succumb to the same misfortune, that is the true defeat. Maybe, for a moment, we can convince ourselves that we hold sway over that which would subdue us. But ultimately, we come to the same conclusion. What the missile seeks, the missile will find. The only ones we would be fooling is ourselves. And that’s perhaps the greatest tragedy.

So I will not shrink in the face of a landslide. I will not hide my face, I will not shield my eyes. I would like for my executioner to see me for what I am, before it robs me. And perhaps I will enjoy the tailwinds. Is falling not often used to describe all the best actions a person could take? Ladies and gentlemen, we are crashing. Please enjoy the ride.

And of all the Earthly forces that might assume responsibility for my feelings, a seldom few can claim it. I begrudge that they try. I might not stand tall, I might not weigh but little, but I am not weak. I don’t kneel at the feet of anything. Contained within me is far more bravery than one may detect, a certain amount more resiliency than I am ever given credit for. I resent the implication that I can’t be trusted to guard my own well being. But I do know this; for too long I allowed fear, my own and not my own, to be my copilot. And that is no longer the case.