The words of Brené Brown’s newest book, Daring Greatly, stream from my car speakers, my attention split between the demanding traffic and the back-to-back insights hitting my eardrums.

This drive, which I have been obligated to make on a regular basis for many years, is always met with enormous amounts of resistance. Today is no exception. I’ll be driving for anywhere from 1.5 to 3 hours, having a 10-minute meeting, then turning right around to get back to my daughter, who is home alone.

Early on a Sunday morning, the radio options are limited, but I need something to distract me from the pervasive grumpiness that has been my companion for nearly a week. Some ugly stuff is happening in my personal life, and I am having trouble finding my way around it.

I had purchased a few audiobooks for a recent trip to Morocco, to prepare for the hours I would be spending on the road, moving from one city to another. I have not made it through all of them, and when I plug my phone into the cable connected to my car stereo, the next book in my queue comes up.

The Universe’s perfection makes itself clear to me on this morning drive, as my internal struggles around vulnerability, trust and forgiveness are met with the reflections of a veritable expert. I can’t believe my ears as Brené Brown describes the human struggle with staying open, even in the face of betrayal and wrongdoing.

She speaks about vulnerability as the ultimate act of courage, and the key to a whole-hearted life. I am not feeling courageous. More broken-hearted than open-hearted, in fact. I am angry, disappointed, vindictive and scared. My instinct to flee is undeniable, but I know better than to heed it.

Stay and feel what you’re feeling, I tell myself. The answer, whether to forgive and risk, or reject and protect, will come. I trust because I have to.

Here’s my favorite story from the book, so far:

Trust happens one marble at a time, but can be irreversibly destroyed by the whole jar being emptied at once.

When I think about my situation, I know the jar is empty. Perhaps the jar is even gone. Do I dare to get a new jar, and begin to fill it, with no guarantee that it won’t soon be emptied again?

Daring greatly is beginning to collect marbles well before we know if there is any possibility of filling the jar. While uncertainty, risk, and emotional exposure  – Brené’s definition of vulnerability – abound. It’s a tricky endeavor. If the process were guaranteed, it wouldn’t require trust or courage. We would not have to dare greatly.

I am disappointed that the next best step for me does not come on this journey, brilliant insights and all. I am nonetheless comforted by an expert’s acknowledgment of how hard it is – all the effort I’m expending to keep the doors of my heart open despite my anger pushing with all its might to slam them shut.

Trust.

Is it weakness, folly or the indomitable force of humanity to experience love? What do you think? Tell me below. I’d really like to know.

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