Intrepidity

Seeking solace from sweltering summer heat, I ducked into a movie theater over the weekend to take in the latest Disney-Pixar venture “Brave”. I have to confess, I have been eagerly anticipating the opening of this girl-power feature, beguiled from the moment I glimpsed the feisty heroine in the trailer, a quiver of arrows buried in the mane of wild red curls flowing down her back.

Merida is her name, and she is everything I hoped a 21^st century princess would be:  Replete with strength, valiance, a fierce spirit, an iron will and a touch of sass.  As the story goes, she rebukes all attempts her mother makes to betroth her.  In an effort to preserve her independence, she chooses archery as the challenge would-be suitors must vanquish in order to win her hand, well aware that as the first born of a leader, she is eligible to contend.  When an arrow strikes the bull’s-eye signaling an apparent winner, Merida stuns her mother by proclaiming that she is competing for her own hand, and proceeds to cleanly hit the center of each target.  In the coup de grâce, she snatches herself from the jaws of death, cleaving the arrow that would have sealed her fate.

Freedom is what Princess Merida is desperate to retain, and the right to choose for herself. I couldn’t help but identify with her, as I am reveling in my own freedom right now and, like her, can’t imagine it all coming to an end. It makes me wonder if I would have been inspired years ago to fight for my inner gypsy had Merida been the princess of my youth.

The princesses of my era were a polished, demure sort of beautiful, innocuous and desperate for rescue, at the mercy of the impossibly handsome prince.  They seemed to have no particular place they wanted to go, content to leave it all in his capable hands. Indentured servants toiling until salvation was found in a shoe that fit or sedated into slumber by poisonous apples and pricked fingers, these girls were helpless without a man.  All that was needed was that magical kiss, and everything was right with their worlds. 

Many of us in my generation who married expecting our happily ever after were somewhat surprised, maybe even disillusioned, to find out just how much work goes into wedded bliss.  That’s the part they don’t talk about in the fairy tales.  Nor do they warn us that we’ll want and need our own interests once our crowns have tarnished and the glass slippers are tucked in an old shoe box in the depths of the closet.

Maybe you were initially rescued, taken where your handsome prince wanted to go. That’s not necessarily a bad thing.  In real life, it’s only the beginning of the story, not the end.  Once the credits roll, that’s when the real living starts, where our mettle materializes and we find our own way. It’s also where we shine, brighter than any sparkling diadem or glittering pumps ever could. 

We carry around with us the power to make our own happiness. We can invoke it anytime we want, mounting our own steeds, galloping out of the castle at lightning speed, with untamed curls flying behind.  Rather than bridling your desires, patiently waiting for your next rescue, think about adding a quiver to your arsenal. I can’t tell you how great it feels to let the arrow fly.

“Our fate lives within us.  You only have to be brave enough to see it.”

-- Merida in “Brave”