A Few Words on Bravery

A little while ago I wrote some words on bravery after a few conversations for the podcast that we have yet to release. Those words seemed to resonate with a lot of people, so I thought I’d share them here.

Over the past few years I’ve been on a fascinating journey of unpacking my own ego and insecurities. I’ve been trying to work out how often I’m wearing a mask, why I’m wearing it, and how to take it off. It has not been an easy journey. At times it’s been painful, and in many senses it’s one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. I wrote these words sat under a tree on a sunny day near my house, and then cut them down for an Instagram post because it was too long for a single caption.

I’m increasingly passionate about how we view adventurous people. The positive and negative traits that seem to permeate those of us who step out of the known world and into something wild. The historic view of ‘bravery’, ‘courage’ and ‘fear’ are, I think, antiquated, and do very little to create a world where adventure in all its forms, from a wander in the fells to a far flung first ascent, is accessible to anyone and everyone. I’d like to see that change.

So, some words on bravery:

‘Brave’. We misuse the word. When I was a kid, bravery was soldiers on battlefields and men climbing mountains.

The bravest moments of my life have not involved ropes or helicopters. There have been points in my life where the bravest thing I did was get out of bed, and there have been points in my life where the bravest thing I did was be honest and vulnerable in front of strangers.

I was in many ways a normal kid, but I wasn’t popular at school. I was bullied extensively, and when I was sixteen I left that life behind and moved to The Lake District. I wanted to be someone new. I needed to be someone new - so I invented a character.

When I started climbing mountains I was an imposter. I was an alien in those environments, surrounded by long-in-the-tooth talent who knew how green I was, but didn’t know how much fear was flowing through me. I’d talked my way into scenarios where I’d written cheques I knew I couldn’t cash. So I faked it. I pretended. Why? Because that’s what ‘real men’ do. Real men are brave. Real man hide their fears. I faked it because I needed to be someone. I needed those stood next to me to value and respect me.

But over time the strangest thing happened. As I became more secure, more self aware, bravery started to come naturally. A new kind of bravery. I had a better understanding of masculinity. Sorry it took me so long, but I worked out that bravery is not confined to the male share of the population. I worked out that bravery is usually at its most poignant and powerful when it’s called upon at home, rather than overseas.

Once I was more in touch with the reality of my own need to be seen and respected, when I was in the wilds of the world I could make good decisions. I could lead teams and help keep others thriving and alive. I could dangle on ropes a kilometre above the ground and manage the natural, normal fear I was feeling. But at home it was harder. Owning my bullshit. Confronting my insecurities. Dealing with my mistakes. I could have carried on locking it all away in a secret little box marked ‘shame’.

These days the bravest things I do involve saying sorry and confronting my inadequacies and mistakes. Not masking my negative emotions (guilt, sadness, embarrassment) behind anger and bravado. It’s not been a short road, and I have a sneaky suspicion it goes quite a lot further. But being brave in the softer, better, modern sense of the word has made me a much better man.

Mine is not a story of escaping where I grew up, finding this intrinsic motivation to better myself and become something special. Mine is a story of a desperate need to be seen. To feel valued and wanted, and to be someone that mattered. Not in the bigger picture scheme of things, but just to someone. That’s changed now. I’m a lot more comfortable in my own skin. I’m capable of finding a sense of value and worth that doesn’t rely on the praise of the anonymous masses. That’s not to say I can’t be hurt by strangers, I can, it just hurts a lot less than it used to.

We’re all different, and we all have our own pasts, lives, hopes, dreams and fears. Our childhoods shaped us in ways most of us will never fully understand. The good and bad bits. The very best and the very worst of us. I’ve seen what adventure can do to people. I’ve seen what it’s done to me. But is it as simple as just time in nature and ‘escaping the real world’ (a line I loathe)? No, it’s not that simple. I’ve interviewed over five hundred of the greatest explorers, adventurers and wildpeople over the last fifteen years, and an anecdotal correlation I’m noticing is that the bigger the adventure or the bigger the challenge, the bigger the ego or the insecurity. This is not always true, but I’ve yet to meet a male ‘polar explorer’ who doesn’t confess to having some sort of dad issue. When it comes to bravery, what impresses me most these days is not how bold someone is willing to be in the mountains, or how much suffering they can endure. What impresses me is how self aware they are, how much they’re willing to push internally, cognitively, to work out who and what they are. To overcome their own issues, and to become a better person for it.