The front door is locked, the sliding glass door is locked, and all the curtains are drawn. There must be a dozen messages on my phone. Sitting here in my dark bedroom, I’ve been thinking about something B. said to me last week. It bothered me at the time, but I was afraid that if I disagreed with B., she’d do that thing where she squints her eyes and wrinkles her nose, making the corners of her mouth rise up and bare her teeth. Since then, what she said has stuck in my head. My mind has taken to it like an oyster to a piece of sand. Here’s what she said:

“Courage is resistance to fear. You don’t resist fear.”

She was basically calling me a coward. I suppose if you define courage as someone who sends food back in restaurants and barges into strange condos without knocking, then I’m not courageous. But that’s not how I define it. Courage isn’t always a roar. Sometimes courage is the small voice at the end of the day that says try again tomorrow.

B. is basically claiming that courage is the opposite of fear. I don’t buy that. Fear is a healthy. Fear is necessary. Fearless people aren’t necessarily courageous. Sometimes they’re just stupid. Like the cat that isn’t afraid to run across the freeway. Bold and dead.

Courage is not the absence of fear, but the notion that something else is more important than fear. Let’s take war as an example. Suppose it’s World War I, and you’re in the trenches 100 yards from the German front line. Both sides have machine guns pointed at each other. Your Colonel yells that it’s time to set aside your fear and attack! Attack, lads, attack! Courage! I suppose it’s brave in a way to run to your certain death, but it’s cowardly in another. I imagine a lot of the soldiers run from the trench not out of courage, but out of fear. They’re more afraid of being thought cowards than they are of dying.

Everyone has his own courage. It’s cowardly to try to live up to someone else’s idea of courage.

That’s my pearl of wisdom.

Isolation score: 9