Just breathe.
Courage doesn’t arrive all at once. It’s not something you can hoard, like jars of my mom’s strawberry preserves in her pantry, or wads of cash in the bank. We wish it worked that way, stockpile enough today and you’ll be secure tomorrow.
But, courage doesn’t operate in that way.
Courage is more like breath. You can’t store it. You can’t stockpile it. You can only receive it, one breath at a time, and then you’ve gotta release it again.
We imagine that if we prepare enough, read the right books, attend the right workshops, pray hard enough, that somehow, someway, we’ll accumulate enough courage for the day the big test arrives.
But, breath doesn’t work that way. You don’t inhale once in the morning and expect it to last until bedtime.
Courage is the same. You don’t draw on a warehouse of bravery when the storm hits. You draw on the breath you are taking right now.
We also like to romanticize courage as some kind of dramatic thing. Soldiers in battle, firefighters running into flames, activists staring down tanks. Those are real and noble. But, courage (at least the everyday kind) is also woven into the smallest bit of life, and it often goes unnoticed.
It’s the parent listening with patience instead of snapping in frustration.
It’s the leader admitting “I don’t know” when everyone expects answers.
It’s the friend telling the truth, even when it risks the relationship.
These are small, ordinary acts. Nobody applauds them. They rarely make headlines. But, they are the daily inhales and exhales of a courageous life.
Breath is a gift. You don’t manufacture oxygen. Nope. You open your lungs to receive what’s already there.
Courage is the same.
We talk about “mustering it up,” but most often it’s something we receive. From faith, from grace, from community, from love that refuses to let us quit.
Sometimes courage arrives as a whisper of prayer. Sometimes it comes through a friend’s encouragement. Sometimes it’s simply the quiet conviction: “This matters too much to walk away.”
Courage is less about manufacturing and more about opening. Less about striving and more about receiving.
Fear and courage are not opposites. They are amigos on a spectrum.
Fear tells us we’re standing on the edge of something that matters. Fear is proof our hearts are awake. If there’s no fear, there’s no need for courage.
Courage doesn’t erase fear. It moves with it. It’s the shaky voice that still speaks. The trembling hand that still reaches out. The pounding heart that still takes the leap.
Waiting until fear disappears is a trap. It never disappears. Instead, courage teaches us to breathe inside the fear, to keep moving even as our chest tightens.
Courage isn’t about proving yourself once and for all. It’s about practice. You don’t need the courage for a lifetime today. You just need the courage for this conversation, this decision, this step.
And, then tomorrow, you practice again. And again. And again.
Like breathing, courage is a rhythm. You stumble, you panic, you forget. And, then you return to it. Inhale, exhale. Over and over, until the rhythm steadies your soul.
Three simple movements shape the rhythm of courage:
Pause. Before we can act bravely, we have to notice our need. We stop. We feel the fear. We name the moment.
Receive. We open our lungs, our hearts. We let the gift arrive, through prayer, through truth, through encouragement.
Act. Courage completes itself in the exhale. We speak, we step, we risk, even with trembling hands.
And, when the next wave of fear rises, as it always does, we return to the rhythm again. Pause. Receive. Act.
Here’s the beautiful thing: when one person breathes deeply, others in the room find themselves breathing deeper too. Calm begets calm. Courage begets courage.
Your small act of bravery doesn’t stop with you. It ripples outward. A teacher’s honesty gives a student permission to speak. A leader’s vulnerability makes space for a team’s humanity. A parent’s steadiness grounds a child.
Courage multiplies, not through grand gestures, but through daily breaths that steady the people around us.
Think of the people who shaped you. Likely it wasn’t one dramatic act of heroism. It was their steady presence, their willingness to keep showing up, their quiet honesty when silence would have been easier.
Their courage became your breath. It steadied you when your own lungs felt tight. That’s legacy. Not stored for later, but given in the moment, passed along in the rhythm of life.
If I could tell you just one thing today, it’s this: stop waiting until you feel “ready.” Stop trying to stockpile courage for tomorrow. That’s not how it works.
Like breath, courage only comes in the moment you need it. You inhale. You exhale. You take the step that’s in front of you. And, then you do it again.
You don’t need enough courage for the whole journey. You only need enough for the next step.
You only need enough for this moment.
Just breathe.
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Steve Knox | Washington, DC
\\\ If you’ve been thinking about what it might look like to have a coach in your corner, I offer a handful of coaching packages that meet leaders where they are. Whether you’re looking for clarity, strategy, or simply a sounding board, we can find the right fit. No pressure, just a conversation about what’s possible. As always, thanks for reading. You are why I write.