My husband believes in daring big things.
The other day, he went out with our one-year-and-seven-month-old son. Just the boys — off to the store, off for some time together. Somewhere along the way, they met up with a friend who had a big dog. And all my husband did was let our little son hold the leash — yes, that leash — and walk the dog, up and down the street in front of their friend’s house.
When he returned home, he brought with him videos, pictures, and joy.
And it struck me deeply.
Because in that moment — watching those clips — I saw something more than just play. I saw potential. I saw what can grow inside of us when we don’t block it with too much knowledge, too many what-ifs, too many fears.
It is good to quest for knowledge. But it becomes a prison when we let it stop us before we even begin. We talk ourselves out of things before we've dared to try. We prepare so hard, we forget how to simply step forward.
But my husband dares. He dares boldly. And I celebrate that courage.
And my son — oh, that little boy — he’s courage itself. He doesn’t know that the dog could harm him. He doesn’t see danger first. He sees wonder. He sees joy. He trusts. He tries.
He speaks of courage without words.
Can we be like that again?
Can we try again?
Can we shed bad information, outdated warnings, and wrong connections? Can we stop failing in advance — simply because we think we know too much?
I salute myself now — for daring to reform, for daring to be true to me. I will dare big things. I will dream dreams bigger than I am. Not easy dreams. Not twinkle-of-the-eye dreams. But big ones.
I will dare.
And I write this not just for me — but to document my little son, who wouldn’t have been finding joy in walking that dog if we’d let fear do the talking.
Picture of my husband and son
