Dare boldly

A blog by Louise Gallagher


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Dare boldly.

Perhaps it is that I have run out of words, or maybe just energy. Perhaps my psyche is telling me I have nothing new to say, or that everything I’ve said stands as true today as it did when I wrote it. Perhaps it is just I need a change of pace. That in order to get a fitness routine cemented into my daily schedule, I need to make space in the morning and not leave it until after work when it’s easy to talk myself out of going to the gym.

Or maybe, it’s just time for a reboot, refresh, renew.

Whatever the reason, I’m looking at ways to refresh my blog. To refocus it so that it feels more organic to my daily life.

I have been writing a blog almost daily since March 2007. On that blog, Recover Your Joy, I wrote 1,730 posts.

I have been writing here at Dare Boldly, originally called, A Year of Making a Difference, since January 1, 2012, a total of 1,213 posts.

Which means, over the past 9 and a half years, I’ve published, 2,943 blogposts. If I break it down by an average of 700 words a post (which is probably short for me) I have written over 2 million words.

That’s a lot of words.

A lot of thoughts.

A lot of ideas.

Which raises the question for me — what’s my focus?

Originally, on my Recover Your Joy blog, my intent was to take every day situations and show people how to find the joy in everything. That included the many stories of homelessness I shared, the trials and tribulations of healing from life’s traumas, and the realities of being a single, working mother.

When I started A Year of Making a Difference, it was with the specific intent of figuring out how to make a difference ever day, even when I wasn’t working at a homeless shelter. It morphed into Dare Boldly in 2014 as I got clearer on what I wanted to inspire in other people’s lives, as well as my own: to  Dare Boldly. Live Bravely

It started as Dare Boldly after I wrote a poem called DARE and a dear friend, Max Ciesielski, sent me a track of music he wrote to go with the poem — and asked me to record it.

seasons of the heart retreat copyYou can hear it HERE.

That poem evolved from a painting and blessing I used to announce the new name of my blog, Dare Boldly, on January 1, 2014:
dare boldly 1 copy

And I continue to evolve.

All this means is that I am reassessing my online presence, the purpose of my writing here, the value of maintaining a daily schedule and the alternatives. It means in the coming weeks I probably won’t be appearing every weekday with any predictable schedule and it means, you’ll be seeing some changes as I adjust my theme, look, feel and direction.

It’s all good. All exciting. All important to me.


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You are born to shine. Dare.

what if copy

 

We are each of us born with unlimited potential to shine bright. We are each born into the of possibility of our life enriching the world just because we are alive. And, we are each of us made of stardust born to be a light for all the world to see in the dark.

 

Yet we sit, and wait, and lurk behind limiting beliefs, hoping someone might see us cowering over there, in the corner, waiting for someone to turn on the lights.

No one can turn on your light.

You have the power. You have the heart. You have the soul to create a light so bright in your life, there is no darkness deep enough to drown it out.

And all you have to do to start shining is believe. Believe in yourself. Believe in your dreams. Believe in your right to live out loud.

Sure it can be scary. It can be downright terrifying to step out from behind the curtain of your uncertainties to claim your place at centre stage of your own life. But risking is better than living inside a numbed out, nullifying shell of a life that’s been left on the shelf, gathering dust behind the cracker jack box that’s already out of date.

Risking it is better than living with the weight of believing you do not deserve to shine.

Risking it is more life-giving than staying stuck in the dark.

You will never find the edges of the darkness around you if you do not step through it.

What if to find your light you just need to start stepping through the dark?

What if your light is that tiny spark of hope that flickered, for just a moment, when you held onto the possibility of light at the edge of the dark?

What if?