I saw this cup on the page for the Rumpus (doing my part for CyberMonday and taking a break from the Awesome Dr. Wicked’s Write or Die, without which I would write nothing), and it stopped me short. Be brave enough to break your own heart. Think about that. It’s an interesting phrase. Can you break your own heart? Why does it require bravery? How would you break your own heart?
Would you break your own heart by taking a chance and failing? Would the being brave be being brave enough to take a massive risk, one that would potentially destroy you?
In writing, the best moments come when I try something new, something scary, something shocking. Writing and not risk-taking is boring. At least for me. I suppose that I could go for safe things, not be revealing, not write about my horrible characters or my weird events or the stories of my life disasters, but they don’t seem like things people would want to read. And the times when I have taken a risk, I do well. Others like my writing, approve of the steps I’ve taken, even if they don’t necessarily like them.
But then you start to wonder – is it all just performance art? Is life just a series of stupid missteps that you make while being brave and foolish and risky? Is this just one of those meaningless statements like “every day is a new day”, which is true, yes, but also banal.
Am I brave enough to break my own heart? It’s so much easier to break someone else’s. Mine is pretty sheltered. I don’t know if I, or anyone else, can get to it. To break it or love it. I think I need to think about this more. Because for some reason this statement is ringing in my head like a bell.